Strange Whispers.

Stra ng e Wh i sp e rs .Sometimes WhisperingI hear voicesNot normal voicesI see them whisperingWhen I lay downA clicking finger soundTravels around meThen loud whispers sayTime to wash the meadowO n e e y e i s d i l a t e dStaring at my wallI blink and see more whispersThere are 3 , 0 4 2 hairsOn my left handI count them every nightW i t h m y d i l a t e d e y eAnd fall to sleepWaking I hear more whispersGentle soft coloured whispersComing from corners or wallsThey follow me aboutThen stop whisperingI cant find themBut they soon comeI hear them in the cityComing from windows or doorsAs I hear themThey grow in sizeWhistling me overBeckoning like virgin prostitutesDeep in the countryThey come and follow meFrom field cornersOr fallen tree ’ sAs I listen they seem strongerAnd sometimes I see themMaking coloured shapesThat shoot forwardSilently through my bodyThen start whisperingI try to hear words when they beginBut there are to manyAll jumbled upOccasionally I make out a few wordsShort sentences that are louderAnd they hurt my earsI want to tell someoneBut find I cannot

I can only whisper.

Strange Whispers.

Andrew Nawroski

Newport, United Kingdom

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Artist's Description

Poetry.

Artwork Comments

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