Salvation calling

Whispers, like cobweb on my face, brush away

Whispers, talking about what could be, hush up

Whispers like stumbling in the dark reaching, move aside

Whispers incessantly buzzing like Mosquitos, shoo

Whispers drawing me to the light, too bright

Whispers snoring peaceful sleep, wake up

Whispers fading away like rejected dogs, come back

Too late…

©The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2013, written entirely on my iPhone.

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