The Rest Is Silence By Reid Baer O, I die, local leaders and turncoat brothers; As I am still, from your potent poisonous pen That quite o'er-crows my spirit: I cannot live to Hear the news from Reidsville where we began our own NWTA weekends ten years ago … But I do hereby prophesy with my blunt sword Held to your neck: the dying of the whole body When with your faltering attempt to stifle one Voice that remains – that voice shall make gains and go out To more men rather than less - and shall be reborn A Wild Man unabated on the Internet.