The Whisper

Whisper to me in the softness of your ways

Embroider the nighttime of my closing days.

Share but nothing, short with me of thy true heart,

And deliver unto me in solemn word that our spirits never part.

For silent apprehension consumes my weary soul

As visions consummate the dark shadows hold.

My corridors are now filled of a future dying and bleak,

With cries for help from lips, which no longer speak.

For I am in need of the bloom from your delicate touch,

 To bring to me a hope to this hopelessness that has destroyed so much.

For you carry my fragile heart in your gentle hand

You are the reason I am who I am,

Yet, now as my days begin to whither and fade,

And time speaks volumes from embitterments dulling haze,

I find myself reaching, oh reaching for your touch

Longing for a need amidst the night's fallen hush.

So, bear with me, if you please, until the coming end,

And carry on my meager and paltry dreams

So that I in fullness of life may transcend.

For I now hear the angels at night as they softly speak

I can smell the aroma hyssop and clover as it drifts down

 from high atop transitions peak.

And alas, I taste of the bitter bread,

which delivers unto me the realization of what I never had.

So whisper to me in the softness of your way

And carry me on through the hope of another day.

Say it is so, say it for me.

That I can in full knowledge

Be free.

J. Allen Wilson © 2005

 www.Jallenwilson.com