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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