She Whispers

Every time a mouth closes.
Every wind in a door.
In between the moments,
A wish of something more.
Her voice is made of petals, roses.
Every ear is drinking, pour.
A hurricane of silent voices.
Filling silent halls from ceiling, floor.

Hearing doesn’t make you see.
In fact a kind of blindness.
In between the moments,
A single act of kindness.

The sound is like a water, sea.
A medicine of hearts, pure.
Its mouth is seeking mindless.
This sickness needs an answer, cure.

-AAA

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