Wednesday, July 8, 2015

I Whistle to Birds

I whistle to birds -
my breaths are caught
in a new rhythm.

What of my words?
I believe they've gone,
gone with him?

Golden footprints
I leave behind;
he's sculpting me a fire.

I long to be heard,
as I flow a muteness -
there's something within.

I whistle to birds -
my breaths are caught
in a new rhythm.

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