Art Copyrighted Ashley Nichole Jones
Whispers
by Cynthia E. Jones
Listen for the whispers
as they come across our lips,
after the kisses
of dew on the grass,
moist and wet
and yet; not there,
not really there at all.
Soothing to the touch,
as fingertips tickle
the blades of green,
felt but not seen.
Droplets from the sky
as the clouds cry,
to wet the dust of
yesterday; and tomorrow
brings the day light.
All that is left is memory.
She rides the wind of time
in search of a place
to reside.
Copyrighted 2000 Cynthia E. Jones
Labels: poetry
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Whispers.. Darkness.. Purple Moon.. Military Woman.. Red, White, and Blue..
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