The Whispers Echo

Whispers of a lifetime of lifetimes echo through time to me.

With words, I struggle to describe visions that my eyes can see.

I feel movement of a living poem. The shape of some strange, divine design takes form.

The air will soon hold the perfumed scent of a babe newborn.

The sweet tastes of victory, of a thousand mothers and fathers revive, for once again hope is kept alive.