When Only Whispers Remain

Whispers, can not compare
to a touch.
Words, can not carry the weight
of an embrace.
Even listening,
to every piece of you
is not as powerful
as the feeling
of skin
on skin

Reality is the
air you breathe,
the earth
that supports you,
the fires
that warm you,
and the waters
that cleanse you

Fantasy,
ever so sweet,
cannot compete
with the beauty
of reality,
just as a whisper
is no match for
a touch.

The father of our surdity
is separation,
and perversion
its issue.
The kindest thoughts
become bastardized parodies of
humorless misunderstanding.

Words you
don’t want to hear,
however softly spoken,
resonate with the pain
of disillusion, and
echo their discontent
at being held hostage
in this game of silent
disappearance.

Intentions are ignored,
honesty is unwanted.
Without touch,
even kindness is forgotten-
until soon we are only
playing catch
with dirty snowballs
in the rain.