Whispers now bless my soul
mutters and tales who ne’er grow old.
They’re tales so strange, profound
Oh! They are so rare a sound.
Stories told through blood and tears.
Tales of love,
Of hope
Of fears.
All they say is that they must
Be found, and within my storyless husk
Their stories do intrust.
Such a responsibility.
Such a high expectancy.
A job with little vacancy.
So many worries inflicted on me.
To share a poor struggling soul’s lively story,
How others do it is quite a mystery.
I only say,
Unto the heavens,
Thank you for keeping worry at bay,
And these stunning whispers, they slink
Like a pitch black bombay,
And within my mind, they do ne’er intent to stay,
For I shall whispers, transfer to the page.
YOU ARE READING
Within the Catacombs of the Soul
Krótkie Opowiadania"They who dream by day are cognizantof many things which escape those who dream only by night." Edgar Allan Poe. A collection of short stories and poems written over the years by Alexis Pool.
