On the wings of a whisper,
A whisper does not
Mean a thing
If so uttered;
A word written late
Is not but a stutter.
What can I believe?
My insides? They churn.
Yet my head doesn't burn.
Will I flow like the river,
Or lie like the sea?
Will I stumble like fire?
Who knows what I'll be
When the dust clears.
Who knows what I'll make him
What in him I'll change
His mind knows no silence
When out rings my name.
He will remember,
As surely will I.
The unknown is this:
Will we be side by side?
You are never alone.
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