Wind whispering through my breath.
by Marlene Scheer
Searching for words, spoken at death.
Some in the corner, where I use to sit.
My favorite place, a place felt fit.
Cries coming from a slight easy breeze.
It's familar to me but doesn't please.
Yells flying, bouncing unknown.
Hits zooming through the zone.
All is here, never gone.
Floating about, on an on.
If by chance, you should choke.
It may be words torn, now sadly broke.
Hate devides the whispering song.
Pushing it away, some are gone.
Feeling a faint touch, thinking of you.
Your words surround me, bleeding through.
If by chance that I may.
Find you here, if that's okay.
I believe you embrace my soul.
Moving through me, before my fall.