KENNITA Manning Poet Rhyme

The Unlit Path

The clock in the Cabinet room struck midnight, then fear.
Each tick was a boot heel approaching the ear.
The map was a scar, turning red with the tide,
Where the promise of safety had nowhere to hide.
?A grey wind was blowing from a continent lost,
And the price of defiance was more than the cost
Of the gold in the vault or the ships on the sea,
But the spirit itself, and the will to be free.
?Bleakness approached, a cold, heavy rain,
It dampened the resolve, it clouded the brain.
They spoke of détente, of peace that could be,
A whisper of surrender across the dark tea.
The weight of the world, a stone in one's hand,
The choice of one man for a beleaguered land.
The generals murmured of odds too severe,
The end of an empire drawing too near.
?But a roar was awakened beneath the dull dread,
Not a bullet, but words the old lion had bred.
No smooth, subtle logic, no clever defense,
But a will unyielding, a terrible sense
Of the final last stand, and the duty defined,
To leave no stone unturned, no honor behind.
?What saves you is the memory of who you must be.
The grit in the mouth of the common decree.
The fisherman, the factory hand, and the clerk,
Refusing to bow in the perilous dark.
?The challenge was faced by that voice, rough and deep,
That told the tired nation it never could sleep.
And the island stood firm, not on metal or might,
But the strength of a spirit that welcomed the fight

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