#TimeoutTuesday

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.