The silent boom

Here it is
The breach
A throbbing hum
Which is silence
Here it is
A place to seep
And steep the grime from toes
When feet freshly detail
The embark of day
The clips and pebble-sticks
That mark
The lowed one's way
Prickle off
And you steam cold
And you read gold
That in another time
Were too rich to palate
Gone are rosy cheeks
Of the summertime songs
And sweets
Gone are electric haze
You market now in silence
Markedly making no mark
In the calm of the days
Yet they come
A trickle first of whimsy
Overflowing by then noon
Fighters farmers medleys
Pilgrims of the boon