hear, the sounds of whispers in your deaf ear <br />the voices that call, harrowing feelings that crawl <br />words written in air, born out of love and despair <br />today in fire begotten, tomorrow with haste forgotten <br /> <br />see the flaming eyes, the flickers of impending demise <br />light that tapers from within, attestation of places been <br />echoes of silence, cast upon ears of brazen indifference <br />words there in gold etched, here in blood pledged <br /> <br />feel their hearts pound, the fears that their souls confound <br />hands reaching out from beneath, through waters that seethe <br />oblations in vain, though please deign to grant quittance from pain <br />now ostensible commiseration, then their plea turns into vexation <br /> <br />unveil your disguise, this is not your sole paradise <br />time disdain will expose, and of your vile ways dispose <br />hear or see or feel, but heed the derelict's appeal <br />so that words are not lost in spite, this air that I write<br /><br />Marco Antonio Solano<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-air-that-i-write/
