My Book of Poems

Little Whispers

*whispering sounds*
Can you hear them?
The little whispers that wander and wisp,
In the crisp air as silent as the stares that is held by the one muttering under their breath.

*whispering sounds*
More and more the sound of the wisps that wash upon the shore of their lips,
Not enough to be heard but enough to be said, the little whispers dance in my head.

*whispering sounds*
Hush little whispers,
quite quiet yet quivering quotes escape as undulant as the breeze whisking away the clarity of words that leave their mouth.

*whispering sounds*
There is no other sounds in the room of silence except the swift motion of little whispers being whisked away by wind and
the rippling wisps slip past and escape their lips.

*whispering sounds*
I would whisper too, but maybe they'd hear me.
The little whispers under my breath too quiet for death to hear the meaning, but too loud to understand why the whispers exist.

*whispering sounds*
And in this place. *whispering sounds* And in this bed. *whispering sounds*
In my head. Why does my voice give out, when they let the little whispers out.

When will the little whispers be words...