The Whispers that Slip through my Fingers

Sometimes we wish we could hold on.

The whispers that slip through my fingers,
Never the same.
The whispers that drift to my ears,
Sometimes you welcome them,
Sometimes you reject them.
But they always slip through my fingers.

You wonder how it would be,
If only you could grasp them a bit longer.
They just pass you by,
Like sand in the hourglass,
Ticking away your life.
And the whisper simply slip through my fingers,
And I think no more about them.

The time they stay is short,
And once they're gone we hardly notice.
What they carry varies,
Love, hate, jealousy, dreams,
But not matter what their meaning,
They all slip through my fingers.

Reviews

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These whispers take on an image for me from these lines like the hair of skeleton: thin, loose, and dead. This poem has a grief stricken erieness to it that is very moving. I will say, I was thrown off by your use of "you" a few times and wasn't quite sure who the "we" were. Nice work. Very nice.