Do You Hear the Whisper’s Belting By the Bay?


Something shifted on this cold August day,
the trees that tilted among us say,
“Do you hear the whispers belting by the bay?”
They throw shiny, shimmering rocks,
those whispers whistle into the docks.
I lock those heavy doors so sounds don’t echo,
but I stand here in an empty meadow;
listening to the sounds of those whispering bellows.

Shuttering as I walk,
I saw those birds fly in flocks.
Those bellows I heard from the meadows no longer echo,
but I saw mysterious shadows in the water so shallow,
slipping and sweeping through my sorrow,
my time here seems to be borrowed.

I lie awake at night peaking through the windows,
wondering if I’ll ever hear again the sounds of those whispering bellows.
I scream into the blinding skies, “Where are the faint whispers I used to hear?”
They answer, “I fear they are no longer here”
But does the sky know it’s becoming my new obsession?
I scream and shout this new deep and dark confession.
I do recall that something shifted on that cold August day,
my life has gone cold to fray, the trees no longer tilt they say,
and those shiny and shimmering rocks, now lay there by the docks.

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