by Sandra S Corona
Monday, December 22, 2003
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Whispering falls over stones of anxiety--
washed rigidly--though invisible, clear, pristine
heard by the pure of heart but by eyes yet unseen.
Whispers, low, weave a mournful melancholy melody
in mists of fogged memories (soon passed)that linger.
Dust of time distort, cloud, perception, reality.
Did I ever mean to you what you've meant to me?
Whisperings increase anxiety that clings, surround us.
Love's a stable, able rock in the tides that wash
the dirt, grime of time; leaves troubles behind in sand.
Whisperings fall like corpses in a shallow grave
and rumor's stench, in a whirlpool of ripples, wildly churn.
Let me see for myself the truth ... loyalties earned.
You are the heart and soul of me ... internally.
If the truth is 'it's over' ... at least do tell me.
Damned, misery oozes, ne'er lets the whisperings fall.
Putrid rejection seeps deep in hollow holes--
it's thirst never-ending; it's beginning anew.
The whisperings are silenced, ignored, stilled, unheard
whenever love takes a stand, lets whisperings fall a ground.