Quiet Thunder
The whisper comes
so close
feather light
on my face,
warm
to my cheek,
a low
Quiet Thunder.
Whispers
are where intimacy lives
where moments freeze
where time is mesmerizing;
all faculties
peak;
alert
anticipating another
whisper-leaf tone
falling
to my ear
still half asleep.
But the content is clear;
someone is whispering
'I love you'
Only the intimacy
which comes on
whisper wings
floats true.
I imagine
God's first call
was
a whispering one.
That Love's first utterings
were not loud
but soft
rustlings
from a softly lilting heart.
Sadly too.
my moms last words
were whispers;
her breath
wispy
tailing off
whisper lost.
Most of my real moments-
small child hurt
or comforted-
come in whispered tones
or moments said
'You'll be alright.'
All in all
its clear
whispers come
when the soul speaks
which is why I listen
to the Quiet Thunder
they represent.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Added by Poetry Lover
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