Whisper

Whisper.

Gracefully, the whisper dances

Swooping, swaying, bending

Like the soft breeze upon the grass.

Can you see the sound beckoning?

 

The whisper does as whispers do,

The voice is heard by the listening few

But the dance of the whisper continues.

Can you see the sound beckoning?

 

Noise.

Like the tip-tap of a pen at pause.

Bills and deals need signing

Papers, projects, floor-plan designing.

Noise upon noise: confining.

 

The chit-chat of socializing

or internet style ostracizing

The world, a wide web now polarizing.

Noise upon noise: confining.

 

Politicians pushing policies

Like puppets fulfilling prophecies

Darkness falling, can we see?

Noise upon noise: confining.

 

Confining: like deafening

Dull of hearing, life-threatening.

Distracted to the point of surrendering.

 

Whisper.

Gracefully the whisper dances

Swooping, swaying, bending

Like the soft breeze upon the grass.

Can you hear the sound beckoning?

 

Life like grass.

Green, brown. Withered, past.

The noise does not last.

All of this noise does not last.

But I can see the sound and it’s beckoning

And I can hear the sound and it’s silencing.

The noise is all but lost on me

Because the quiet whisper calls to me.

 

Stop.

Can you hear it?

Can you see it?

 

The still small voice is beckoning.

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