"Will we listen?"
Whisper Back
The labels are burning, up high
in the clouds.
In mirrors what I see are ashes
of many shrouds.
We write down words and
leave this stains,
marked across the pavements.
Unwashed yet unsung, left
opaque by the heaving rains.
Dust collects on so many roads
yet few only find them.
The words are so scattered that
their secrets so condemned.
We write down words and leave
it unfinished,
staining stark white walls.
In the fading light, all I
see is a world so tired, diminished.
We write down stories impulsively,
like asphalt to a street.
We write down words in hopes
of understanding, but all eyes find
deceit.
We write down words and mark
them red,
cross out all that's white.
History has been laid so thick
with many words unsaid.
Now I say,
Never bother,
never find,
the footprints of the aged.
Never seek,
never utter,
the canvas of the caged.
Keep trying,
keep lying,
keep writing tales of new.
Keep laying,
keep straying,
light be kept subdued.
Ink has stained the very world,
so many buried whispers dying.
If only we could whisper back,
if only we could stop lying.
YOU ARE READING
Static Little Musings
Poetry"Sometimes all I want is for people to listen, and for once in their lives stop pretending to understand and just sit down and listen. A writer's life and soul lingers wherever his words have left a mark. This is where mine lies." Words will confi...
