Whispers

by

Richard Betts Jr.

I breathe tortured whispers into the air.
These tortured whispers are my prayers.

They take flight to the sky on the wings of a bird.
And as they soar to heaven, I fear they are unheard.

My whispered prayers turn to screams of silence.
I pray for peace, but see more violence.

The world begs for sunshine, but the sky sends forth rain.
The sick hope for healing, but receive another dose of pain.

A little baby lies dying, the parents are crushed in grief.
With so much senseless tragedy, I question what I believe.

Maybe we need to create our own peace and love,
And look more to ourselves and less to the sky above.

And as I stare at the stars in disbelief,
Maybe it is up to us to provide healing, love and relief.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Vision
by: Richard Betts Jr.
from: Warrington, PA, US

To visit all of Richard Betts Jr.'s poems, click HERE

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