Whispers Poem by Douglas Whiteraven

As I walk the sacred land
The sun momentarily shines bright upon my face

The deafening silence is almost unnerving
Yet birds anxiously circle overhead

The animals pause their activities
In an unspoken respect

Clouds begin to form above
And the air begins to cool like a refrigerator door just opened

My heart begins to weigh heavy
As my throat begins to dry

I hear them speak all around me
Like the static of an old radio

To fine tune my thoughts and mind
I must open the trap door of my heart

I must learn to FEEL the wind
LISTEN to the wind

For it not only brings change
But also the whispers

Only in THAT way
Will I be able to listen to the voices on the wind

The soft subtle voices of our ancestors
Being carried to the four directions