#395 A Storm Of Quiet Voices Poem by Jimmie Arrington

There's a long road up ahead,
No one knows just where it goes.
There's a path which no one's tread,
Near a river which never flows.

There's recycled air in my lungs
And a terrible screech in each ear.
There's a lash of solemn tongues
But yours is all I fear.

There's questions without response
And quandaries without results.
There's a ghost that ever haunts,
Adding injury to insults.

There's clarity among the blurs,
A spot of hope, indeed.
There's a wave of wild whispers
But yours is all I heed.

There's a will, a want and desire
To reach, to gain, to obtain.
There's a massive, scorching fire
Pulsating through each vein.

There's a myriad empty choices
In the air above the clear.
There's a storm of quiet voices
But yours is all I hear.