The Subtle Wrath

Gentle whispers demand peace -
                they speak harshly, yet soft.

The shadow crescent hangs; its
                voice resounds, yet it's quiet -
        a lunatic's way of thinking.

I gently whisper into God's ear,
                "Fill my lungs, softly fill them."

My voice drowns out.
                Now it is quiet.

The shadow crescent burns,
                swallowed by the eastern sky.

The winds rage on,
                no longer a whisper.

Water screams into my ears,
                fallen deaf to the world,

As I fly into the sun
                upon a western wind.