Underground_Network
November 17th, 2009, 04:39 PM
As the clock strikes midnight
A voice is heard.
As the wind blows softly,
The voice is heard again.
It is barely audible,
It is the voice of a three year old
Frustrated with his harmonica.
He tosses his harmonica to the ground,
And screams, barely audible,
Into the darkness.
No one hears him,
Except for those angry with the wind,
And they too
Go unheard
For as they whisper,
Their words are blown away...
Because they whisper
In the wind.
A voice is heard.
As the wind blows softly,
The voice is heard again.
It is barely audible,
It is the voice of a three year old
Frustrated with his harmonica.
He tosses his harmonica to the ground,
And screams, barely audible,
Into the darkness.
No one hears him,
Except for those angry with the wind,
And they too
Go unheard
For as they whisper,
Their words are blown away...
Because they whisper
In the wind.