Whispers Poem by Steve Howard

I had thought to rise above the strife,
upon the dreams of younger days,
or hide on wasted paths of time,
in some silent, selfish maze.
Yet in seeing all that passes
now,
I cannot call myself a man,
to simply turn my face away,
and not help but as I can.
I see the trouble there before
me,
the misery and travail,
where evil is a living thing,
with no deed beyond the pale.
So I must stay and speak the truth,
though but a whisper in the
gale.