Revision 3
Blood, hushed to a whisper,
hissed beneath the soil
damp with accusation
as the mist that once rose, until
I
held the world
under water,
matching murder
drop-for-drop,
and no one was left
to cry out.
Blood, hushed to a whisper,
hissed beneath the soil
damp with accusation
as the mist that once rose, until
I
held the world
under water,
matching murder
drop-for-drop,
and no one was left
to cry out.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
