Broken Glass

I The thunder purrs like a lion waiting in its den, The lightning, that doth split open the sky Like heavenly spires, through the still, And fragile night. Like a wail, a cry for help upon the wind I fear I hear, But I lie in bed, and do nothing. II Rain. The patter of angel’s tears upon my window, Smattering on the pane like the knocking on a door Or the ticking of a clock. Time is up, it says. My time? Perhaps I have some role yet to play, As I lie in bed, and do nothing. III Shattering glass splinters the otherwise tranquil night. In the distance, A baby’s shrill cry pierces the silence. The storm has now passed, Yet the chill remains. A shout, much closer to home – a cry of pain. And I lie in bed and do nothing. IV Something is burning, on the wind I do smell it. The scent, akin to a martyr’s pyre, the glow rising as the sunset, Heavy upon the horizon. A great shriek, like the wailing of a banshee invades my senses. More soon join the throng – too many more. The burning, the shattering, the screaming – torment and fright. Yet I lie in bed, and do nothing. V A knight may use a weapon of fire in the defence of the innocent, But only a knave will use that weapon to kill. And now, as death invades the still air, the night is filled with darkness. The desperate cries, like the startled raven’s call, cry out In search of justice, as though there were justice to be found. Finally, all falls silent, like a hushed whisper in the dark. But I just lie in bed, and do nothing. I did nothing.