Hemingway is overrated,Twain is even more lost at sea,And all truths point to the mouth of a woman,Where both her whispers and her screams,Are born.Pour another glass, Beer, wine, whiskey,I don’t care,So long as its...

I saw two statues talking to each other. I didn’t hear what they were saying, perhaps because they were whispering.

Get up and stop crying my little girl, if you don’t have new clothes to wear don’t worry, still stars are whispering about your beauty.

. . .our whispered words, faintly in the darkness, dissolvingwithin the trees—then, fleeting words of consolationwould not suffice if feigned, and flippant wordsconfessed reluctance—our wordswere meaningless uttered on the wind. . .

He heard her in his heart – whispering from the mist

I pull back, gasping for breath. Reeling. His breath is ragged, and I place my hands on his cheeks to steady him. “Is this okay?” I whisper. “Are you okay?”His reply is anguished. Honest. “I...

All the whispering, glaring, pointing and judging makes them no better than whoever or whatever it is they’re gossiping about.

A stream of primal voicesWhispering in the breeze of your heartTo urge you on.

To every whisper if you listen carefully, you will hear or fail to hear something.

There is another alphabet, whispering from every leaf, singing from every river, shimmering from every sky.

Cosmos is God, who whispered the syllable of life.