| A Whispering by Laura Jameison I. The white water rushes, powerful slamming and slipping over wet rock, breathing and frothing toward the ends of the earth, plunging the white lava falling down the river, down into the pit of pits, the icy water which burns and freezes made and made again by the nightmares which never end, all the earth crashing silently, forever seen, but never speaking again. II. What is that? A whispering, a scratching of a voice not heard for countless centuries, always there, yet never speaking, only flitting through the back of a man's mind, whispering always till the mind hears the sound, the dripping, dripping of ancient water on cold cavern rock, where no light is seen at all, just the dripping, till the mind sleeps never hearing, never speaking again. |
