Hurricane whispers

Her whispers seem to have found me as deaf as i have thought to be, her written whispers seem to scream and each whisper of pain and love and lust and ecstasy is a pleasure to me as the desert of my eyes finally receive the nourishing rain of her bits and bytes of whispers.

Ssssssshhhhh...just enjoy the moment where the soul of two rivers and the river of two souls converge and merge then surge under and atop waves of lingual, verbal, lyrical poetic passion

only to subside with each long distance whisper, as wisps of words mix with metaphors and similes, it seems to me that the caged bird that sings also writes and reads to escape the cage of bondage. If not for seeds, where would we be? For our seeds and their growth keep us happy in the cage of solitude. Solitude, broken promises and thoughts of the horizon and the past are nothing more than tourniquets that turn our souls into charcoal briquettes, fueling the heat of poetic passion.

Visceral thoughts are given birth to through whispers wrapped in silk scarves of solitude, and as the day to day wind of loneliness blows, we wrap ourselves in these scarves, and keep our heart warm...and still beating.

Minutes turn to hours turn to days turn to months after burial of love,
and nightly on the balcony of pain and mental dismemberment
eyes look up
not to watch but to ask God,
the moon, the stars
why...

Written by Makendal (c) 4/2006

This poem was written by a friend of mine, it's a lenghtly yet emotionally driven piece. I just thought the pic would mesh perfect with it.