If Words Were Wishes

IF WORDS WERE WISHES Shaking fingers strike these keys, stroke, by stroke, by stroke. Words to explain this gentle walk, our history implores we make. “Walk Gentle”, Elders speak, when all vision blurs around. It is the fog that shrouds, like the fires of war when stoked. Like the haze of doubt, as fear claims its own forgotten mistake. This quiet that is feared the most; all emptiness of sound. What song shall be sung to return such grace now choked? What message can be shared that returns, much less takes? Where are the Elders who speak, whilst we seek to be found? Such an uncompleted story when words do not invoke: Once upon a time, when we held you without this ache. Once upon a time, we thought forever we be bound. If words were wishes and only one could make this cloud a hoax, I would give such words and climb the sky with you; for all sake, For one last moment without broken heart nor pouring wound. One last time, we’d build that fire we once desired to stoke, One last time, dance our history as earth beneath would quake, Then would Elder Spirits dance away, this our grieving sound. If words were wishes, wherever they be; such are not easily found. JR Twaddell © 05-11-15