Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010

The Silent Race

by Suzanne Schenk

We tear the voices from the silent race
The crouching kin whose sight we can't endure
For the light comes low into the threshing place

When subtle stars have bound the sky in grace
They gnaw on bones to make the past unsure
They tear the voices from the silent race

When lovers rise beyond their last embrace
Alone, they find the heaven's sun obscure
For the light comes low into the threshing place

When fires walk the streets to hunt a trace
We offer prayers to those that burn our cure
That tear the voices from the silent race

When we bury blades with dreams to hide their face
We're fools to think a world of eath secure
For the light comes low into the threshing place

And soon, by doors that fear cannot erase
Their endless numbers gather calm and pure
And I hear the voices of the silent race
"Come low, come low, into the threshing place."

Added: 30.04.2010

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