Not Even a Whisper

not even a whisper, not even the time

could hold back the rage that was violently mine

a tumultuous torrent of ruinous woe

that ripped and tore and shattered them so

a rage held in check; now loosed upon men

a swelling, cacophonous swirling of sin

that swallowed up districts in calamitous song

cascading down bloody, wrathful, and wrong

it consumed and devoured, size ever-daunting

and lashed out hot, avariciously wanting

the downfall of friend and not-friend alike

its gaze set wildly to nowhere in sight

it built and it built to roaring crescendo

an impossible girth, (not innuendo)

until it crashed down in white, blinding light

piercing the veil and dispelling the night

and it faded and felt like nothing transpired

a faint memory of a time not desired

a rage like a fireflash, an echoing shiver

not even a thought, not even a whisper.