Whispers In My Heart

The whispers in my heart are rarely heard:
They're just unmisted breath that's never seen;
If silence fades when empty talk's preferred,  
That peaceful beat might well never have been;
Men rarely pay attention: one observes
Distraction as one speaks - I know the trend
Of fuckwit patronage, which often serves
To bury resentment, so that their end
Can be buried in me; but I can hear
Sad echoes through the night; I'm kept awake:
Gossamer silence beckons for night's clear
And quietly resolute; it could remake
My less than tranquil world: yes, once men start  
(if only!) hearing whispers in my heart.