Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Monday, June 21, 2004

Spent Sighs And Whispers

There are times each day
you are terribly missed
in private, quasi-private,
with too many chances to be
alone with my wishes.

As in this moment when
the night promises endless
hollow, hungry hours, when
again I'm alone with my
thoughts and myself, to quiet
the deep sobs that catch
so complete, spent sighs and
whispers sent to some outward
intangible, always something
I can never touch.

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