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The whispers.
Whispers fill the ears of those who listen,
Frozen eyes with still beating hearts solemnly hear,
Withering wastes turn to ash within the year,
To drop tears for what they have become as they drift in the wind,
Carrying every letter starting with dear friend,
Forever bound to the drifting wind as the cold air picks them up higher ,and higher , and higher, to the end,
Not only saying good bye to a friend but to a receiver,
Who received abandoned emotions and took refuge in our thoughts,
Took advantage of the emptiness in our hearts to grow what they believed was A divine intervention,
They left a mark on the deepest part of our newborn hearts as a prevention of ruining the hand me down parts,
As we start to listen we hear the last whispers of air flowing by,
And it's only this moment we will remember forever even when it becomes the past,
We wish we were the wind who carried the whispers of those who drift with all their letters as dear friend
