Silent Screams

          In the world of Olde
          where a prince on a noble steed
          rode in to save the day
          there was no need for weighing options,
          but in the fading flicker
          of a dying lantern
          extinguished by the force
          of a bitter wind 
          the light at the end of the tunnel
          seems to slip away.

          Praying for evolution
          to translate heart sounds
          into a lexis of thoughts,
          it all plays out in silence
          like a nineteen twenties film
          rolling stilted in black and white
          with visions of Pollyanna
          fighting an unseen warrior 
          trapped in an enchanted arrow of light 
          that pierces the almost impervious dark.

          And the sound of a soul
          screaming in the night
          drifts mutely from the silent screen,
          invisible to blind eyes
          who could not penetrate an onion’s skin
          if life depended on it.

               october 2005
               Janet Reid