Death Silence

From the fields where tulips
blood-tear while perched upon
the loneliest of cliffs stands
the Angel of Death Silence
while she surveys those far below

who await her fair lips
to cry forth upon the chains of injustice
or to place the kiss of compassion
lightly on the brows knitted
from the sadness of the oppression
they feel beneath the whips
of the despots and self-righteous

but she watches, gray as the stone
from which she was carved, white
as the alabaster of agony,
her wings poised for the flight
to join the words she will never utter

from her tongue of stone.