Untold Stories

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
I was experimenting with alternating rhythms, I'm not sure if I was successful, but I enjoyed the story.

Submitted: June 13, 2016

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Submitted: June 13, 2016



Are those silent whispers of the wind outside telling of a cold night,

If the earth could speak and the trees tell tales, would what they say be right?

When I think of how the world may think, and speak to us, I know

They speak to themselves, not us at all. To understand, we’re not allowed…

But I wonder what they say?

The noise I hear is loud and rude and looking for attention

Every sound is familiar, even a name being mentioned

My life produces daily noise and what it says makes sense

Explosive things will thrill me, but the only true suspense

Is being told a story that I’ll never know was told

And walking past a memory that’s a thousand moments old

I long to know the stories that the wind sings to our ears

I want to hear of love, and sadness, and those who conquered fears

I pity those who fought and lost, and won only a grave

Would being told their story redeem what they couldn’t save?

Regardless, I feel peace inside at the whispered tales outside my door

A lonely man knows how to listen to silent nights and yet hear more

How many times have I been seen by Mother Earth and Elder Wind

And had my story told to you, though you didn’t know, you still listened?

© Copyright 2018 R.J. Cervantes. All rights reserved.