gallery of whispers

whisper to me one last time

when the night whispers your name
i listen.

with every gentle breeze that
blows away my troubles
i find your voice
guiding me
but slightly taunting me.

why do you do that?

your voice was the only
source of confinement that
had a touch so tender.

a voice that just like the wind,
sweeps past and picks up all my worries with it.

my moonlight when my path gets dark.

you comfort me with a single touch
no hands, but an arm that goes the lengths
of wiping away my tears
before wiping away yours.

forgive me,
for i have no arm to reach you
nor a voice to extend to your soul
but i have a mind.

a mind that holds none other
but the mere thought of you.

my mind has become nothing but an art gallery
as your pictures flood it,
and my admiration floods in.

if only i could be so fortunate
as those who visit galleries
who could snap a picture so quickly
just to revisit a memory
while i have to yell your name across a gentle goodnight
just to get a whisper back.

no way of telling what the whisper says,
but every word the night whispers to me
rings like your name in my ears
therefore, it does not concern me
what the night says,
as long as it is connected to you.

let the whispers connect the night to my soul.