Silent City

Silent City

The white granite City of arched, parched quiet domes

Homes, to the Glorious Dead, mile after mile

Pile after pile, side by side

 All, precisely one yard wide

In the Silent City

 The roads with familiar names, Robertson, Emerson

All gone

Or cul-de-sacs called Unknown, Anon

Numbered white dome- doors that nobody answers

Cemetery road maps, creased with crosses, showered with shrapnel

Row after row of low pink moles, untold heroes

 Who live eternally, in the City of fighting ghosts and deafening  lost souls

Come judgement day, who will stand and say

 For the soundless, hushed, crushed

Cross or Crescent, Hindu, Jew, Voodoo or a few He knew

The multicultural slain in their final pain, that cries out their own God’s name

Laid out neat, in  sheets of detached graves of Devil’s slaves

 Facing the same way, all holding their breath ‘til atonement pities

The old lags and Battalions of bold, unfolding, fluttering flags

Away from the Silent City

Concept of ‘Silent City’ by Tony Addison

Harry Mills Boracay Philippines20th November 2011