Shriek Poem by Daegal

There was a scene like Munch’s “Scream”,
Like a vast, volcanic dream,
The swirling sky was burning bright
Upon the Oslofjord at night.

I wonder what the person thought,
He who held the back all taut,
When he saw the sexless thing
Alive and dead in piercing ring.

Did the figure sound at all?
Was it just a pose enthral,
Encaged within its subtle fear
Aligned with other faint frontier?

I am I alone in wond’ring: “strange,
The figure wails a range,
But why is it not all alone?
Do we all have frights unknown?