Whispers hang in the air,
draped around the room 
like coats on the front-hall hooks
or cobwebs dangling from the corners
of the unsuspecting mind.

They thicken like fog, 
swirling around the listener,
masking confusion with intrigue,
painting in hues of doubt
on the uncertain mind.

So empty and fragile, 
a breath would blow them away,
yet they cling like sticky wax,
smothering truth and laying deceit
in the unsettled mind. 


sept 2003
© Janet Reid 


 

Included in:



 Poetry Pages: A Collection of Voices From Around The World 
 Volume II