Tired the wanderer of night seeks refuge from the cold.

The chilly air of midnight soaks and takes a-hold.

Every thought becomes a scream which must be silenced.

Oh how the wanderer smiles at the sight: “The Town of Sol Silenst”!

What providence imparts to them they gladly will accept.

For no man with an ounce of hope would a kind hand reject.

So off the wanderer went with a bold and renewed stride,

To seek a face, a friend, and bed sheltered from outside.

Across a large arched wooden bridge they pleasantly walked.

The river below glistened and babblingly talked.

They stopped to listen to its’ voice and thought: Oh, how smart…

Nature is…it’s flow and beauty, which always lifts the heart.

On they walked until they reached the center of the town,

And though it was now morning, and the sun shining down;

Not a soul could be seen on the streets shuffling along.

Not a voice could be heard from anywhere; not a laugh, or shout, or song.

They wondered what could make a town so silent in the morn.

There certainly were people here to make the roads so worn.

Footprints spread out everywhere and ended at each door.

Yet not one face in a window seen, and not one tap on a floor.

When like a fearsome cat pouncing on unknowing prey.

Screams erupted everywhere piercing the peaceful day.

The wanderer fell to the ground covering their ears in vain.

Their heart beat to the tune of the echoed fear and pain.

Then all at once silence again as each door opened wide,

And townsmen and women walked into the day outside.

Each townsmen looked straight ahead with an air of duty,

And off walked each without a word; appearing cold and snooty.

The wanderer could get not one to listen or acknowledge,

And the town hall now looked busy along the main roads’ edge;

So they walked into the town hall to some sort of celebration.

Everyone was laughing and conversing with elation.

Again the traveler could not find any who’d care to hear them,

And had to move, or the townsmen would, have walked right into them.

When accidentally, just that happened: two shoulders hit each other…

They looked into the others’ eyes and really saw each other.

The man, he stood and frowned a sec, before his smile returned,

And without word his arm swung out; and without reaction he turned.

The man went back to celebrating with a big smile on his face,

And the music played on ’til a dripping-sound silenced the place.

Each townsmen stopped and turned lacking expression,

To glare at the wanderer: “The Great Indiscretion”.

The wanderer stood there with one hand tightly gripping the spot,

Where a cut had been made and was dripping out a lot.

They looked at the townsfolk and then shouted out, “Why?”.

In silence they soon realized today they well may die.

They slowly backed up while surveying all their sides.

Toward the exit they stepped and slowly made strides.

The room was packed tight and each step held a price;

For when close each villager swung and would slice.

The wanderer soon decided to just run for it.

As whether it be life or death one must commit.

They ran, jumped, and dodged; and outside emerged…

The bloody mess of a human which from hell has been purged.

The wanderer ran and ran until the town was long afar,

And the bridge from midnight was now not very far.

They breathed in and out to the smell of the river…

So close; their fear finally escaped in a shiver.

And as the sun shone hot and bright at noontime that day,

The wanderer made it to the bridge and knelt in dismay.

For on the sides of the bridge a creaking could be heard.

The sound of gunny sacks as their contents stirred.

Each blood-soaked sack stabbed deep into the heart,

And a piercing scream flew out from deep within…from their heart;

For in each sack was a small child dying in the sun.

If helpless babes be treated such…Oh hope..there is none!

The wanderer yelled to the universe, “How can this be so?”.

“How can these humans be like this? How is it they don’t know?”….

That souls are more important then status and selfish pursuits;

As death greets all eventually and pulls out all lifes’ roots.

All that’s left in the end are memories and the soul.

So what will happen when they’re puppets and no longer have a soul?

When outcasts and outsiders are always deserving abuse,

And the helpless children in the way are pawns for adults misuse?

The wanderer lied down on the bridge tired from the flight,

And hoped to wake again, and to live another night;

And as their sight faded they saw the sign and cried,

For on it read, “The Soul Silenced”….

And then they died.

K. Aldaya, 3/7/15

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://www.wallpey.com/wp-content/uploads/bridge_dark_wallpapers.jpg