She always listened to the whispers of the night
Memories whispered in her ears as she stared back at the inked sky
The night spoke of the mountains she encountered, softly as if to ease the pain of the past
The night spoke of the views she came by, loudly as if to restore the peace she lost
She always listened to the whispers of the night
Memories reminding her of a time she no longer remembers
But the night never forgets
The night remembers the times she stared into it at the bottom of the mountain
The night remembers the times she stared into it at the top of the view
She always listened to the whispers of the night
And when the night gives space to the day
She will tell the clear sky what the night had to say
YOU ARE READING
Talking Tree (Ongoing)
PoetryOne time I was listening to a lecture by a wise man who told me that if I had no one to talk to I should talk to a tree. So here I am.
