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Windtalker…
I whisper my words to the wind,
carried on the breeze contained therein.
Words, words and more words, I do say
to no one in particular, the same every day.
Sometimes the wind capriciously blows them back,
as if angry at me blustering with fury it’s attack.
Other times it wafts gently past
carrying the words I have amassed.
Who will hear them, who can say?
It does not matter after its carried away.
What is said is said, there is no one to listen
to my oration of words in singular unison.
I talk to the wind but it does not reciprocate,
it just howls and gusts at what I alliterate.
There is no one to listen, no one to hear
or to care about what I hold dear.
I talk to the wind, listening, hoping to perceive sounds
carried to my ears as it drifts and floats around.
Gypsy red
Dec.2011
carried on the breeze contained therein.
Words, words and more words, I do say
to no one in particular, the same every day.
Sometimes the wind capriciously blows them back,
as if angry at me blustering with fury it’s attack.
Other times it wafts gently past
carrying the words I have amassed.
Who will hear them, who can say?
It does not matter after its carried away.
What is said is said, there is no one to listen
to my oration of words in singular unison.
I talk to the wind but it does not reciprocate,
it just howls and gusts at what I alliterate.
There is no one to listen, no one to hear
or to care about what I hold dear.
I talk to the wind, listening, hoping to perceive sounds
carried to my ears as it drifts and floats around.
Gypsy red
Dec.2011
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