whispers; who can hear from lips of ancient
decedent spirits ascended into the vine, sublime
they talk to me, whispering from the eternal
tree screams, your destiny is with me.
Please come see; look inside the whispers.
From the weeping willow tree and the solid oak
touching from coast to coast the whisper boast,
to the vibe that fly's let us propose a toast.
to the whisperers from a time past at distant
blurs have encroached.
choirs sing to Saturn's rings, but there vocals
are quiet, weaving in and out back and forth
causing the quiet riot of esquires on fire.
the prophet lets loose rhetoric from his lips
causing the waters to rise and the moon to eclipse.
Blackhemmingway ~2014©
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