A word, breathlessly whispered
Mentioned on the hiss of a sigh.
Softly carressing the folds of the
Sound, falling deep into the eye
Of a long melody. Tragically, it seems
That the melody was not to be.
For if it was not a mistake
It still seemed like one to me.
Up lifted on the wings of a sad
Melody, it finds survival in the host
Of melancholy memorials and
Unwitting hauntings by specoral ghost.
If only a gasp, a sigh, and a hope
Was leveled like a charge of disdain
Then seeing, not believing, would
Respect the end of my soul’s stain.
Alas, it was not my choice to make
Or even to close my eyes and pretend
That someone would listen to me scream
When hope has reached its end.
And all you have left is the whispered
Voice of the long, sad melody.
The tragic reminder of what was lost
When you were lifted up for me.
