Silent Matin Poem by Mary Naylor

Satan's dark fist scattered people like pawns.
A howling fury, it struck in the blackness before dawn.
In some raging corner of Hell, it must have been spawned.
Roofs and walls were twisted and torn. A shrieking, hollowed, horn
sucked the morning songs of birds from their throats, unborn,
and men and women were left to mourn.

There was a tornado in my heart when you left me.
The sheltering shrine of our love was shattered and shorn.
There was a rush and roar as tears from my very core, poured,
and my spirit spilled limp to the floor.
Then, I stood alone among those mute,
tortured ruins, and slowly, painfully, in that gloom,
I wove a new song on life's loom.

In dappled cathedrals, radiant with golden haze,
birds once more trilled out their morning praise.
Laughter rang and love came again.
Deep within me happiness welled and rose,
not like a triumphant phoenix,
but a misty-eyed dove of morning.