The Heart’s Whispers

when we hear the whispers of the heart

prodding us to the depths of eventide’s end-

we simply mask

the glass threads

piercing  souls

rather,

we drink frothy champagne

whilst reveling in the scent of musk

from

worn hookahs

in a city’s edge

where wives are beaten silently,

where children frost their fingers forgivingly,

still,

we are in Plato’s Cave-

dolorous  essence

entraps and forces

us downward…

yet,

still,

we do not heed

whispers of our hearts.

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s