Silent Sermons

So sacrifice the sacrificial, like a windblown winter thistle, directionless, unguided missile, too late, too late, the warning whistle. Deaf and dumb, ignore the warner, crouched and shrouded in your corner, since time began, the endless mourner, hiding from the ceaseless scorner. Darkness that no light can breech, sightlessly your eyes beseech, straining, but just out of reach, silent sermons never preached. ©Danielle White