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February 11, 2007

The whisper, the rustle
Of a faintly held belief

In vapor, the mist
Bringing hope of sweet release.

One moment, in passing
Yielding harvests now replete

An endless repeat, echoes hold
A mystery of me.

Still waiting, still running
From answers barely seen.

Which whisper, they murmur
In the darkness of between.

Who I am, where I’ve been
The fabric of a heart

Slowly beating, ever watching
Eyes wide open. Yet blind.

New is coming, light will break
Shadows holding fast

To memories cold, in fingers old
And quaking.

Fear steals, bitterness quells
Hope quietly lingers.

Near to me, priceless, free
And waiting.

In the whisper, in the rustle
Of a faintly held belief.