COUNCIL OF WHISPERERS

COUNCIL OF WHISPERERS they gather— the council of whisperers. their tongues are like daggers, sharp and jagged. distorted by the lens of others’ eyes, each word, a falsehood, an inuendo. they script the downfall, a play of betrayal where the protagonist stumbles. they do not hear the silence, the heavy pause lingering, like a ghost in the room. they do not notice the haunting spaces between what is said and what is real. they do not see the cracks, the toxic fissures that grow beneath the surface. but there, in the wreckage of reputations, lies a seed, small and stubborn. it waits for the rain of understanding, a washing away of the grime of misinterpretations. it waits for the sun to nourish the soil where optimism and hope can sprout anew. let them gather~let the whisperers weave their tales, for in the end, the heart knows its own story. let them speak~the wounded are more than their whispers, more than the dispersions they cast. although bruised, the sufferer will rise like a phoenix~ not defined by their words but by the fierce resilience within.