Marcy

A figure sits atop a rock,
A cool wind caresses the face,
Sitting with their thoughts alone,
And a whisper invades this place,
Time is spent with ears straining,
To hear any type of sound,
And as they really concentrate,
A whisper there is found.
 
 
Soft and low that whisper’s heard,
But is it just imagination,
Or maybe just projected by,
A heart’s inner fascination,
The words are not distinguished,
They’re spoken so very low,
Soon it seems they swell with sound,
With an insistence they slowly grow.
 
 
There’s wonder if the words now heard,
Are ab echo from the past,
An emotion that somehow never died,
That through the years still lasts,
Are they words that were never heard,
Though they become a familiar voice,
Are they words that were spoken long ago,
By a heart that lacked a choice.
 
 
Soon the words become very clear,
They’re repeated again and again,
It’s known that they come from another,
From a lover and a friend,
The figure smiles with the knowledge,
That though imagined the words are real,
The product of emotions found,
And the belief in what we feel.
 
 
These words are something that beckons,
They state something already known,
Multiplied by lonely days,
And a love that has only grown,
Simple words that say so much,
That substantiate a fact,
That once the words are spoken,
They can never be taken back.
 
 
The figure smiles as they realize,
That this whisper comes from the heart,
And the reason it’s carried by the wind,
Is two hearts were torn apart,
An elation soon moves the soul,
Because it knows those words are true,
And the words that are whispered by the wind,
Are the three words, I love you.

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