This poem came about when I was sitting at home looking out my window and I saw an old lady walking past carrying two bags of shopping. I kept thinking to myself, 'I wonder if she has anyone at home' and it got me thinking, what if all she had left were her memories and how does she cope in this world alone.
The Whisper of his Voice
Through
the harsh winter’s night
With
no warmth in sight,
No
sounds of life
And
nothing but ice,
All
this keeps me trapped inside.
But
in the distant mist
Where
nothing else exists,
No
beating of a heart
And
earth meets sky depart,
Is
the whisper of his voice.
The
gentle caress of his growl,
Hypnotic
like a wolf’s howl,
Soothes
my tender frame
As
he whispers my name
All
through the night until dawn.
It
is my constant companion
This
trusted stallion,
A knight
without a face,
No
name, no place
Except
the whisper of his voice.
With
the rising of the moon
Haunting
me like a charging platoon,
Piercing
my tortured soul
And
backing me into a hole,
And
yet, underneath it all, I feel safe.
His
words wrap around me
Sheltering
my form from debris
Of
this twisted, battered old world
Leaving
me furled,
But
for the whisper of his voice.
Trees
bellow, swaying in the breeze,
Gaps
in the woodwork causing deep freeze
To
settle in my aching bones,
Grinding
together like two stones,
Bringing
forth the beast from within.
However,
all this I ignore
As
the voice anchors me to the shore
Keeping
me out of harm’s way
To
survive another day,
With
the whisper of his voice.
It’s
the one thing that’s kept me going,
Stopped
the pain from showing
And
provided the oxygen I needed
And
eventually I succeeded.
But
now the end is drawing near.
This
tired, ancient body has seen it all,
From
hailing monarch to country fall.
Now
it’s time to be with my love,
To
join him in the heavens above,
By
following the whisper of his voice.
