Whispers
Plumes of pale smoke
Voices like liquid fire on honey dipped roses
A sigh that glides over flesh in a cold, serpentine caress
Filling the air with movement of breathing
Byzantine eyes reflecting in the velvet darkness
Disembodied gems
Unblinking
Whispers, once more
Subtle as the shifting of the Midnight wind
She moves through the sleeping trees
Over the damp, cold ground
They hush around her, scarce daring to exhale
Lest she pauses in her passing
To look upon them with those eyes of torment
Her soft gown moves about her in liquid motion
As she glides dismally past the huddled night things
A billowing, pale vision with downcast eyes
Her blue, cold lips part
As softly her tormented voice spills from them
The air seems to shudder
Those around her, they tremble
Her voice grows steadily higher, haunting, ghastly
In utter sadness and yet…fierceness
Her wild hair, pale as her tattered gown
Stirs and writhes about her with a tangled life its own
Horribly she cries on
Wailing in such a bone chilling pitch
The very stars seem to cease to blink
Until at last
She lets the sound fade, sink within her and die
And her lips of ice blue at last close
Her eyes having been searching upwards in her lament
Once again fall to her alabaster hands at her side
She speaks only one word
As she glides past them and into the struggling dawn
A whisper like poison treacle;
‘Despair’.
