Whispers Do Howl

Shadow my soul in the waking hour

when while recall an ominous glower,

sleek in form in hallowed ground

carry me forward toward eery sound.

We will visit a menagerie of memory

in order to feel soft, history is worry

some madness occur inside the mind,

insidious in its penchant callous remind.

A childhood in frivolous innocent display

will certainly show ignorance in decay.

We live our lives as hopeful idyllic hero

always a wish to perpetual beauty grow.

Internal storms do concern our waking

hour when reflection is, well, frightening.

While our lives continue to grasp facade

we mustn’t allow private lives seem odd.



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