Winged Whispers

A menace of red droplets hover,
The horizon darkens red;
Amongst the bloodshot cloud cover
Some whispered words embed
Themselves, for those minds to discover
That are from life unwed.

The shells of life unfurl before
The onlooking eyes, aghast;
The morbid sight that men deplore,
They’re forced to watch, steadfast;
The eyes that wary watch the shore
For the dreaded beetroot mast.

A hero grim amongst them stood
Of stature hard and strong;
A creature that to a noble brood
And to noble stock belonged;
A creature bound to causes good,
Sworn saviour of the wronged.

He strode forward before the rest,
His wings he cast out wide,
To put to their sternest test
The strength of ship and tide,
To cause with his mighty chest
The raging waves to subside.

His wings he cast also up high
To battle with the clouds;
The droplets that ever drew nigh
To rain death upon the crowds,
Those droplet-laden clouds ran dry
By the force of his winged shroud.

Cloud and shell struck his frame
And naught was allowed to pass;
The almighty gale was rendered tame
By his all consuming mass;
But the evil storm that has no name
Took its customary toll, alas!

The hero took along with him all
That possessed the strength to harm
The frailty, that we wonderingly call
Life, and thereby preserved its charm;
The hero perished, but ere his fall,
Evil fell by his winged arms.

The masses, awe struck, beheld
Their hero’s fearless nobility;
They stood still as he was felled
And watched his death set them free;
And now, the danger being expelled,
They cast him solemnly out to sea.

But the droplets will loom large again,
Again the ships will form their fleet;
The harbingers of grief and pain
Will soon resume their dreadful beat;
The heroes endeavour in vain
To stall the Fate we all must meet.

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