brittle tinsel
In a world of whispers, I am a shadow -
Spoken of, but never to.
Shaped by voices I’ll never hear.
Whispers cast through the sky,
Whispers that are nigh.
Whispers that are unheard,
But only by some.
Whispers about someone,
But who? By whom?
Whispers that are spoken,
Unknown whispers, but by whom?
They should be thwarted.
Whispers about you?
But who? By whom?
Whispers in the night sky,
Meaningful, reclusive, Unheard.
Are they bad? Are they true?
Whispers in day time,
Never to be said, Never to be heard,
But only by some, only by who?
Whispers. They are meant to be unheard,
But only by some, only by whom?
Whispers cut the night sky, or maybe cut the truth?
Whispers that sow a seed, but will they grow soon?
Whispers never end.
Whispers all the time,
meaningful, but not always good.
not always bad, but are they always true?
But the whispers always remain.
Even if the whispers are heard.
They hide in a shell, nervous to be seen,
They hide behind masks, unwilling to be explored.
They hide behind someone - unheard, unsee.
Someone doesn’t hear them,
even if the whispers are about him.
Someone speaks them,
even if they aren’t him.
But he,
he is not ignorant,
He hears the whispers,
He hears them talk,
He hears them speak,
But.
He choose to ignore them,
Maybe not to be heard?
Maybe not to be seen?
Maybe not to be hurt?
Maybe because they show a scene,
A scene that hides a truth, a vulnerability,
Is that scene the truth? Or just obscene?
Does he truly remain clueless?
Or is he just choosing to ignore them?
The whispers don’t know,
Because they are not spoken to thou.
sharp wagon