Whispering winds of solemn sorrow
In the mundane hours of the night,
Surmise the falsities of tomorrow,
Spreading dark throughout the light.

Preying 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.

Soon settling the sorrow of the traveling fellow...
He 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
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.

His idle mind tended to wander,
Through yesterday's--before tomorrow,
Distorted pasts of future's squander,
Finding days from which to borrow.