Whisp

These...are the memories  

watch them whip away  

and dissipate  

like leaves that have withered on the vine  

in a world that makes no sense  

    

These are the voyages  

to the place I marked with smoke  

to the place where bullets fly  

cups run dry  

and a night's sleep is an oft told joke  

    

These are the voyages...  

To the place where voices echo but no one spoke