She creases her forehead in confusion
She wonders what they say as they pass her by
What are they saying, to whom and why?
They murmur, frown, giggle and titter
As if they have no emotional filter
The little she hears almost brings her to tears
Do they dance to the tune of some shadow puppeteer?
Call them rumors, gossip, lies, hearsay or fabrication
Call them improvised news or forged information
Little difference would it make.
Malicious whispers, known to topple empires
Sunder relationships and cause death
Her chest hurts and she can’t seem to take a breath
As her heart tumbles in her chest, her mind is drawn to Wilkinson v. Downton
In that moment, she could almost relate to Miss Wilkinson.
Ware those Whispers
They travel far and wide
But their source is always close to home
Who tattled? Was it a loved one or a close friend?
She may never know.
Ware those whispers.
They may have as little as a kernel or as much as a boatload of truth
At this point, the defence of truth is surely moot
She called them girls, squad, friends and besties
In their company, she was merely lollygagging
Behind her back, their tongues were wagging
A mere misrepresentation can cause complete devastation
They scoff at her frantic utterances of truth
To them, it is no more than mere superstition
She retreats into her Fortress of Solitude
In this bubble of quietude, she lifts her hands in gratitude
Though she knows it is no more than a blanket fort of self-deception
They continue to natter and chatter
She ceases her cries of protest, for it no longer matters
In calm desperation, she starts to twine the hanging rope
But wait, suicide is still a crime under the law
She stands helpless as the whispers sneak past her defences
She grips her head in an effort to drown out their voices
To this they mutter, “look, surely she is non compos mentis”
Dear child, let them run their mouth for God is thy witness
Guard your tongue for the walls have ears
Calm your heart and hear no whispers
Let them speak, they are no more than vipers
Do not be sad, though you may lose some friends
It is only the beginning and not the end
They may think they have you assessed
But they have no idea how much you’re blessed
And at all times, ware those whispers.
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 5:55 PM UTC
She creases her forehead in confusion
She wonders what they say as they pass her by
What are they saying, to whom and why?
They murmur, frown, giggle and titter
As if they have no emotional filter
The little she hears almost brings her to tears
Do they dance to the tune of some shadow puppeteer?
Call them rumors, gossip, lies, hearsay or fabrication
Call them improvised news or forged information
Little difference would it make.
Malicious whispers, known to topple empires
Sunder relationships and cause death
Her chest hurts and she can’t seem to take a breath
As her heart tumbles in her chest, her mind is drawn to Wilkinson v. Downton
In that moment, she could almost relate to Miss Wilkinson.
Ware those Whispers
They travel far and wide
But their source is always close to home
Who tattled? Was it a loved one or a close friend?
She may never know.
Ware those whispers.
They may have as little as a kernel or as much as a boatload of truth
At this point, the defence of truth is surely moot
She called them girls, squad, friends and besties
In their company, she was merely lollygagging
Behind her back, their tongues were wagging
A mere misrepresentation can cause complete devastation
They scoff at her frantic utterances of truth
To them, it is no more than mere superstition
She retreats into her Fortress of Solitude
In this bubble of quietude, she lifts her hands in gratitude
Though she knows it is no more than a blanket fort of self-deception
They continue to natter and chatter
She ceases her cries of protest, for it no longer matters
In calm desperation, she starts to twine the hanging rope
But wait, suicide is still a crime under the law
She stands helpless as the whispers sneak past her defences
She grips her head in an effort to drown out their voices
To this they mutter, “look, surely she is non compos mentis”
Dear child, let them run their mouth for God is thy witness
Guard your tongue for the walls have ears
Calm your heart and hear no whispers
Let them speak, they are no more than vipers
Do not be sad, though you may lose some friends
It is only the beginning and not the end
They may think they have you assessed
But they have no idea how much you’re blessed
And at all times, ware those whispers.
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