Beware the tolling bells lest they presage,
Sad tidings borne on silent wings
that whisper through the night,
Searching, ever searching,
for a haven to alight…..
Upon (like some lost horror) to bestow,
An evil deep within the well
of some poor helpless soul;
The twisted shaft of once resplendent goal…..
For deep within the dark and dreadful eve,
A madman lurks in masquerade
with purpose fully known,
To those aware of what lies
underneath the wisdom stone…..
A thing forewarning of impending doom,
Yet loath to be discovered
until all is laid in ruin,
beneath its feet;
Not knowing, ever knowing,
it designs its own defeat…..
With dread of those aware his ill design,
He turns to stare intently,
and with dark and evil eyes,
And silent, wings in menace
through the somber ev’ning skies…..
And e’re the sound has fled the shrouded gloom,
Another takes its place to loom,
so vast, and yet so hushed, the muted strand,
Bleeds echoes of its death across the land;
I hear it faintly too…..
A poem by Richard Alin Martin
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.