Whispering winds of solemn sorrow
In the mundane hours of the night,
Surmising falsities of tomorrow,
For they fear the dark of divine light.

To prey upon the minds that dwell,
With woven lies, a web so foul...
Hark! The sounds of voices  swell
As the whispers rise into a howl.

Settling the sorrow of the traveling fellow,
Who never could find his way,
Strumming tomorrow like it were a cello,
Snapping the strings in dismay.

Who--alive for years, never did live,
As his angst and diffidence cumber.
Even the magnanimous can't forgive
The missing dreams of untried slumber.

Remnants of his tortured call
Were swept away in the breeze.
A feeble ripples arduous sprawl,
Replaced by the fray of the seas.

A mind lost in silent clamor,
Time ridden sands of disease,
Reduced to a mumbling stammer,
Foreboding thoughts of unease.

His idle mind tended to wander,
Through yesterday's--before tomorrow,
Distorting the past for future's squander,
Finding days from which to borrow.