Whispers Battle

Whispers are battling with my soul’s delight, Shining on half of my senses in time. Mute the translation in its rhythm away from the drum beat in my mind. What the micro vibratos may mean to this moment that festers down the long road, A language that does compute in my hard drive. Thought processes cancel the overwhelming expanse of my lungs, As each inhale and exhale folds and withers. In that time the initial thought processes flood my minds eye, And engulf every ounce of my being. Which forces the beauty and semblance of my persona, To parish into the oblivion unmistakably in the depths below. The sea and sky only fall victim to the earth once in the rotation of the sun. But all I figure in the voice that echos in my chambers eye, Like sweet honey combs to my ears. For if it challenges my courage, Moves and pushes through the smoke and mirrors. And begins to figure the apertures were the very essence of my humanity comes full circle. On the edge of the years calculation of my absolute consecration in this world.