The Whispered
~~~
Memories hang heavy
Like Spanish moss draped
Over the gnarled boughs
Weathered by the voice of years
Fed by long forgotten tears
And traced in the wounds
We are all the whispered here
~~~
Visions rise like smoke
A pungent scent seen
Stung in blood-shot eyes
Burnt in the sepia lost
Paying the highest cost
And placed within the tombs
We are all the whispered here
~~~
Darkness beats the anvil
With a farrier’s skill
Drummed to war
Bodies of the broken
Names left unspoken
Now echoes in the gloom
We are all the whispered here
~~~
commonsensiblyspeaking 
Shhh
We come from a family who excelled at whispering, because saying something out loud made it real….
And I can promise you we were not the only ones….Thanks sis, I love you always!
Great poem, Brad. It brought whispers of Loyd Alexander, Tolkien, Cornwell, and even Beowulf to my mind. Do you mind if I share it on my blog?
It is gracious of you to ask, Mr. G. Please feel free and I appreciate the support. You may share any post without need to ask. I am always grateful!
Reblogged this on D.C. Gilbert and commented:
Brad Osborne’s poem over at commonsensiblyspeaking brought whispers of Loyd Alexander, Tolkein, Cornwell, Kipling, and even Beowulf to my mind. Check it out!
the sounds of silence…
Well said!
Lots of sensory words with this excellent piece. I remember seeing Spanish moss for the first time in Florida as a kid when we traveled to the Everglades. It made an impression that still sticks with me today.
Thank you Pete!