Wilting Spirit Whispering (Revised) Poem by Margaret Alice Second

I heed a spirit’s whisper wilting on
the wind, don’t fell my tree; in dark
of seated silence words fall as pebbles
noisomely – disturbing inner calm,
angering pointlessly

All are baulked with bated breath –
it feels as if the end is coming near
and blindly stifles life, I can’t create
a thing, your reading messages from
worldliness alive now interferes:

So aliens drive Africa in Volkswagen
Beetles, ancient Landrovers, make
a mess of cold emptiness, creating
static within the fearsome silence
already within, spurring turmoil

Scared – scared of tomorrow,
scared of increasing darkness
of great loneliness
scared of being me –
of no chance of escape…