Whispers
Whispers
soft and lovely,
saying things of love
echoing sweet nothings
we’ve heard them all before
they echo through our minds
we feel “butterflies” inside
as all these pretty words
make us feel alive.
Whispers
harsh with menace,
saying things of hate
reverberate bitterness
saying we’re too late.
they filter through our minds
we feel hopeless, dead inside
as all these ugly thoughts
make us want to cry.
All these are,
are remnant thoughts,
wandering through our heads;
each with their own schemes and plots,
blessings, curses, dread.
They fill up empty spaces
in our expanse of mind,
to make us diverse cases
Our musings one of a kind.
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