The soft whisper

January 8, 2008
By Stephanie Duba, Arlington Hts., IL

My eyes begin to close as tears
roll onto my pillow
I think about death and how it
has crept into my room.
I hear the moon calling as the ocean whispers my name.
Laying there,
My hands begin to grow cold.
I see your face in my dreams,
It hurts and doesn’t help at all.
I think about how you decided
to stop fighting,
to let go,
and leave us here.
How you hid the pain,
the bare and hollow feelings.
You were climbing the walls of insanity,
and no one knew.
You heard the calling of your name over and over again,
Out on your balcony,
you looked towards the light of the moon,
as you let the ocean’s soft whisper pull you down.

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