Supple Whisper
Our thoughts are whispered in the cool night breeze.
I often fall into this snare when I opine around your demise.
The breeze whispers, and the spirit hangs tight for my appease.
I've completely failed in my attempt to cease the tease.
Since there is a daisy, there will be a hummingbird.
I hear you whispering with yourself in my head.
But inward life gets so stuffed that regard is absurd.
One acquires regard by requesting stars that can be heard.
Murmurs, protests, in my sleep, gracious exceptional fantasy.
Tossing and furious, grasping a handle on, I ponder my destiny.
Each whisper of the sky imbues the air with secret mystery.
The Garden is lush and green, and a rose is a beat away.
For what reason is it there? The rest of the world is as yet dark.
Who can be of aid to me? I sank to my knees, madly clack.
I need to draw out of bed and husk an outside walk
Individuals were uncommon; I mixed in with no glance or whack.
I'm at this point not ready to perceive myself in the mirror.
I'm scarcely holding tight; I'm in fine fettle than a toddler.
A long time back, this sight provoked once feelings of choler.
Had delicate dew winks and calm embraces, and many holler.
They urged me to find myself devoted, so I consented to all.
However, as they age, their whispered supplications blur and fall.
Utmost away, I can envision the halcyon blue sky over the wall.
As I continue meandering, a hummingbird rapidly slows stall.
Written: July 15, 2021
WHISPERS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless
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