Just Soft Whispers in the Wind

Soft whispers in the wind--

if only he could hear my voice

calling gently, reaching out with

calloused fingertips to lightly

embrace his ever-sleeping form.

But like the wandering current,

my cry is as common as the rest,

like a single drop amongst the rain

and one flake of ash buried with others.

He questions the sun and the starry night,

his mind as confused as his heart,

losing himself in his own reality

where I fall behind and cannot follow.

His name is the prayer on my lips,

but the paradise above answers not,

knowing how foolish I am to think

he can complete what should be whole.

Could it be my own blindness

that allows me to call him my own

on a path I cannot see but follow loyally

to a beyond where merriment resides?

The moon watches the world slumber,

but I wonder, can one eye catch his tear

rolling numbly down those stained cheeks

while he continues to wonder on away?

I clasp my breath as the trees sigh,

their leaves rustling from foreign winds.

My eyes closed as I hum a quiet song,

a lullaby to put his troubles at rest,

just soft whispers in the wind.

If only he could hear my voice.