The Whisper

Someone hears a whisper. They don’t know what it is. They make assumptions, blaming it on everything, disregarding it, not understanding the meaning behind their supposition. It is everything because God’s whisper makes the planet itself sing. I wrote this one for him, or her. I’m not biased.

I move. I twitch. I turn my head.
There goes the whisper again.

Where does it come from?Where has it been?
Is it the water caressing the lofty bark?

Is it the willow being blown gently by the wind?
Is it the pounding of a little girl’s heart?

Is it the trail of a last devoured sin?
Is it the rising of the morning sun?

Is it a shadow cast by a star?
Is it a fool’s well-savored pun?

Or a look of two eyes from afar?
It is imagery in the making.

The beginning and the end.
Just a whisper of love we are taking
From the creases in God’s blessed hand.

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