My inner voice

A voiceless whisper always speaks to me, At times too faint for thought to comprehend, Yet it speaks—sometimes even loud and clear— To warn of danger or to guide to blessings. Most times, its voice grows clearer when ignored, But when I heed its prompt, it comes true, It then fades~ like a whisper lost in the wind, and like a dream slipped from grasp. But whenever I long for its guiding light, That's when its feet grow cold and heavy— like a feather on a fish... an imaginary tail a snail would love to wag. But from where comes this inner voice? That, like true prophets, dares to predict. Is it God speaking in me—or something else? If wishes were horses, I’d rather choose this inner voice— For my outer voice makes only noise, While this my inner voice flows like a river of truth, of wisdom and understanding— that sometimes may dry up, but it never vanishes... and it beams with a cadence that illumines my future.