Whisper of The Unheard Voice
Whisper of The Unheard Voice
Writing words of his heart,
they have been hidden.
The beating of my heart is, at its race.
This quiet of this man,
has been subdued.
My canvas is an off-white,
which the writer would I write,
silently, in pursuit of his muse for words.
My mind, a sure place for me to browse,
but, my writing of this gray is not allowed.
I strive for these words to come out to be.
Making noises inside my head,
you see,
searching my memory for the right words to read.
I'm sure what I found indeed,
needs to be said.
Now, turning my canvas of closure, to a light blue.
The author stumbling to find,
unwritten with the muse in his mind?
Still, his heart he had, refrained.
Turning once again, the color of the writing canvas.
Speaking of, the underwritten words about to be,
the written words are still a blank, inside of me.
I write as if it was going to be of a crown of solid gold,
be a foretold of a story old,
gleaming in the light of its hail.
Of these words, let them come,
where the end has already begun.
Literary, his choice of the unwritten.
This piece will be away,
of breaking an authors' sway,
unethically, speaking this of course.
It's in my journal that I should write,
but, decided to take my words to Grammarly's site.
To at least stay ahead of this poem's play,
is a sprite let say?
Why not throw a tickle, or two, or three?
We were talking of a sprite, hm, let us see?
Right now I am thirsty,
can I drink that sprite you wrote in to play, haha?
A sprite is a word, is that a soda drink I speak?
Here is the entity,
an entity well I guess,
that would be me?
My body as a whole needs a respite,
before finishing the unheard,
the unspoken heart, heart unspoken.
I'll end in a whisper,
good night to all,
a good night.
| Copyright © | William Darnell Sr |
| Year Posted 2020 |
Source - PoetrySoup
Credits of the image used: https://unsplash.com/@huper
