After the word storm

After the word storm.

So, what of me, so who cares?
It went wrong, we wouldn't talk,
self defence sowed hate in eyes
that saw lies expressed by a honest face;
disgrace in words given truthfully.
Quiet now. Hurt alone.

If, perhaps, I had kept my counsel,
been silent when injustice ran amok,
Not allowed the angry waves of spite
licence to uproot the bright flowers of peace;
love may yet have kept her throne.
Silence does not atone.

Tomorrow will be cold, colourless,
each persistent heartbeat, redundant.
What is life if it is not shared?
We all should be paired with another-
all able to approach an end and know
that someone once cared.