The whisper comes <br />so close <br />feather light <br />on my face, <br />warm <br />to my cheek, <br />a low <br />Quiet Thunder. <br /> <br />Whispers <br />are where intimacy lives <br />where moments freeze <br />where time is mesmerizing; <br />all faculties <br />peak; <br />alert <br />anticipating another <br />whisper-leaf tone <br />falling <br />to my ear <br />still half asleep. <br /> <br />But the content is clear; <br />someone is whispering <br />'I love you' <br /> <br />Only the intimacy <br />which comes on <br />whisper wings <br />floats true. <br /> <br />I imagine <br />God's first call <br />was <br />a whispering one. <br /> <br />That Love's first utterings <br />were not loud <br />but soft <br />rustlings <br />from a softly lilting heart. <br /> <br />Sadly too. <br />my moms last words <br />were whispers; <br />her breath <br />wispy <br />tailing off <br />whisper lost. <br /> <br />Most of my real moments- <br />small child hurt <br />or comforted- <br />come in whispered tones <br />or moments said <br />'You'll be alright.' <br /> <br />All in all <br />its clear <br />whispers come <br />when the soul speaks <br />which is why I listen <br />to the Quiet Thunder <br />they represent.<br /><br />Lonnie Hicks<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/quiet-thunder-2/
