Shhhhhhh

Whispers cloud the judgment of weakened minds wreaking havoc with the fragile balance of id and ego humbling the sprout in its new greenery. The winds are made of whispers, fear is their home and each human husk shivers at the sound of them. The unknown comes in the whispers of dawn, the burgeoning of night, the bloody bath of birth and the shriveled skin of the corpses we become. Whispers cloud the rage of temporal reality beckoning with their softness, tonguing the ear, licking the neck too soon stretched on mortalities noose. Reference Carrie Richards – A Dream in the Mist – line 9 whispered steps