Whispering Soul
Speak softly to my weary heart,
'lest it's shattered pieces collapse,
avalanching itself,
to be buried in the depths of sorrow,
never again to be recovered.
Hold gently my withered self esteem,
if you can find it,
'lest it disinegrate to the touch,
to be blown to the four winds,
never again to be recovered.
And gaze not into my sorrowful eyes,
'lest the floodgates burst forth,
for once the tears begin,
the bright eyes will go out,
never again to be recovered.
But, listen closely to my mournful soul,
'lest the goodness be forgotten,
for it whispers of dreams forsaken,
quivering like a flame in the breeze,
in hopes to be recovered.
Copyright © Trudy Diane Rider | Year Posted 2008
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