Little Whisper

My todays tarry,
flaked, bright sunrises
to glowing, midnight moon,
tangled in an inevitable swoon,
constantly chasing the prizes
of the lives we marry.

Little whisper breathe,
and pepper my tired ear,
while frozen I stand in place,
I take my hand and erase
a wet capsulated tear
into its endless sea.

My yesterdays beckon,
remembering time forgotten
when all I knew was a dirt path life,
sometimes easy or full of strife,
while walking fields of cotton,
southernly, I reckon.

Little whisper shout,
and scatter the ashes around,
from a place where I lay to rest,
her head pillowed on my chest,
as heartbeats forever sound,
an endless boxing bout.

The smells I remember,
make my eyes close in peace,
and I sway in the passing breeze,
along with the nearby trees,
my hope, never cease,
my soul, my ember.

Little whisper tickle,
my ears until I hear you,
and stick by my side until death,
when my soul has no more breath,
the sky will remain blue,
until rainclouds fickle.

If my wings did not tire,
they would spread and fly non-stop,
from ocean to ocean, endlessly glide,
in the peaks of mountains, I would hide,
and watch sunsets as they slowly drop,
behind horizons orange, raging fire.

Little whisper of mine, me cover,
like a blanket fresh from the dryer,
warm to the touch like mother's milk,
brushing my skin like lukewarm silk,
unlike any drug, taking me higher,
because you are my secret lover.

We spin a worn wheel,
traction we seek when slick,
and sometimes we find ourselves stuck,
in life's ragged and sticky muck,
as it plays our mind, a trick,
until we no longer feel.

Little whisper, please do not flee
and guide me back to my beaten path,
coax me over with future words of vision,
cut me open like a fresh bladed incision,
multiply my ways like arithmetic math,
and help my eyes so they may see.

There are many things I miss
as I watch them walk hesitant depart,
my heart beats wounded and flawed,
through the mud in life I crawled,
on this journey when I did embark,
out of the dark, hopeless abyss.

Little whisper, where were you,
when I was lost in my fear of the now,
when my world crumbled into a collapse,
when my mind turned me and I relapsed,
on my knees, I could not humbly bow,
a single prayer that was true?

I look up at the cold night skies,
a twilight covered with frigid stars,
wondering where the twinkles call home,
wanting them to call my pocketed phone
so I could finally be where they are,
like the flicker in my blue eyes. 

Little whisper, please don't shout,
I may ignore but no fault of your own.
I am a mere soul wandering this plane,
standing and waiting on a late train
to arrive and shake my inner bones,
as well as my clouding doubt.

Where and what will I forever be
at journey's end, when I do arrive
at the place I constantly search to seek,
my countenance scarred tenderly meek,
when all I do is fight to survive,
the fathom of life's deep sea.

Little whisper, you, I command,
floating about on clipped wings.
I may not fly as high as other royal birds,
but I know my worth, I watch my words
as I publicly recite, ready to sing,
on this stage, forever, I stand.

Check out my new podcast below : Looking forward to this new venture


In this podcast, I talk about the time I was asked to clean out a religious lady's house after her passing. From that experience, I was able to construct a writing that resonates a dark, more sinister side to Southern living.  People say "home is where the heart is", yet what happens when home does not feel like home anymore? In a land labeled as 'God's Country', what happens when you see and encounter more demons than angels? What happens when riding bicycles on a dirt road is long forgotten and is exchanged for lethargic revelations? After boxing away this spiritually devout Catholics life in numerous cardboard boxes and wrapping her life treasures in bubble wrap, what did I really gain from this experience? Was I asked to do this sacred job and carry it through with grace and fragility because no one else would have? Out of all the places this woman could have lived and call home, why did she choose a corn laced, soybean surrounding, hog farm smelling Southern backdrop? I'm constantly looking for a way out, yet she was looking and found a way in. Why? This truly cannot be the land of milk and honey. This is the land of Southern Shadows Gothic.    — This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast.
  1. Southern Shadows Gothic
  2. Dear Future Self,
  3. INfatUatiON
  4. The Sounds I Know
  5. Am i An astronaut?
  6. Me Remember You
  7. CaN i CaLL yOu ToNighT?

Feel free to follow my podcast and catch episodes not posted to this blog site.

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