The Tempest Wake

There has been a mighty storm in this tiny place, A gross upheaval and an blizzard of disgrace. No longer do the angels visit here, They love not this dungeon of fear. That a man should take the life of another, That a man should be set against his brother, Is a dark despairing sign. This Life is a bitter fruit that rots on the vine, Fear begats fear and the wild horses of anger are set free. The meek shall hide in caves with Death their only company. The Good weep tears of blood, And the flower dies in the bud.