Whispers
He heard the whispers call his name,
asked himself if he was sane,
From his diary sounds arose,
with curiosity, he went close.
The lock which kept the pages bound,
shuddered against the rising sound,
For freedom the voices cried,
With persuasion his caution died.
With the key he twisted the lock,
what happened next left him in shock,
In total blackness he stood alone,
where he was to none known.
Agony, pain
misery and disdain.
A desolate oblivion,
left with no companion.
The voices faded to a single one,
Brightness blinded him like the sun,
His own figure whispered true and free,
He asked himself,
How could the whispers just be me?
Copyright © Smrithi Shibichakravarthy | Year Posted 2016
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