In The Silence Poem by welkin siskin

My bereft aura that bethinks me of my art is lost,
Where the cockles of my heart
whispered and sounded off
like the bravery of the mightiest,
Where wits of my ignorance
of conscience purl'd like the cascades
Facing the horror of the grievous
like the roots of the trees
stretching its arm holding up the glades.
My bereft aura that bethinks me of my art is lost
Where My childish knowledge
cared for the undoing of the Earth, dawn to dusk;
Where my voice of silence brooked
like the Jews enduring the ugly behest of Hitler
Where the humanity set back in the cruelest lure
Of the cult of the dogma of brevity.
My bereft aura that bethinks me of my art is lost
Where the Nile of dares of my insanity
defended the burst;
Of the evening of the mobsters' struggles.
Where the noble and the honest,
the virtuous and the upright lost their souls