Obliteration
When once you die, your secrets will be sure,
As sure as Druids long gone now will speak
No more of their religion, which is pure
In silence. Hieroglyphs beneath the peak
Of some poor pyramid where they have been
Destroyed will hold its mystery complete.
The alphabetless Stonehenge is the queen
Of blankest silence. Sacrificial bleat
Upon an altar of a sheep tells more
Than you can whisper when you lose your breath.
Those Druids, hieroglyphs, and Stonehenge lore
Wiped out so long ago are silent death
Squared, if three zeroes can be multiplied.
For you, and those, murmuring is denied.