Whispers
Whisper to the whistling wind the wistful worries of the day
For she is sister, tightly twined to smoke that winds and floats away.
All that I confide is lost, adrift, a cloud upon the air
That flows a distance still uncrossed and stirs a shroud of silken hair
And stirs a shroud with soft spoke dreams, I hope find a kindly ear
I speak aloud the heartfelt reams my heart cannot speak for fear
For fear of what I cannot tell, not even to the night
For all the words that rose or fell, have never eased my plight
I whisper to the emptiness, the wide and wild sky
I breathe out all the ghastliness the smoke that stings my eye
But those who to the wind confess, shall ever be dined
Whatever love they might profess, is second to their pride
Copyright © Adelle Benade | Year Posted 2019
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