The Voice

The voice

talking many hours

it has an audience

with my soul

 

First the welcome

then the lure

then the world

I cannot put down

 

It whispers like poetry

of worlds unseen by me

at least I think so

and paints them so

vividly

but the colors are mine

 

It tells so quietly

it is less than a whisper

of deepest hopes

and darkest secrets

and I marvel that

these things can be said

at all

 

The dark world outside

sweeps by to the rhythm

of wheels on metal

joints singing

and then again

and then again

and then again

and then again

 

and I put the book down

in wonder

August 1996

Copyright © 2005 by Wolfstuff

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