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Whispers tell a Forgotten tale

of Memory standing on broken shale;

Hollow pieces of transparent gold

Scattered and Tarnished, though rarely sold

As the Faded echo replays in the mind,

Treacherous, heartbreaking, yet delicately kind.

The Whispers speaks of Unspoken Circumspection,

The Mirror’s prophesying reflection

From times long past and times untended,

Through millennia of Faded lives, not befriended;

Whispers Reminding what Lives long unspoken,

That hearts are Fragile and not trivial token

To be cruelly displaced or disremembered

With Faded Hopes and Faith not engendered.

The Whispers are shouting for us to Hear

Faded Lives are Treasure to be Cherished dear,

Yet only when Memory Heeds the forgotten tale

Of Faded History, Tenacious and Frail.


Written in response to today’s The Daily Post Writing Prompt

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Image found at Unicef/Syrian Refugee