Invisible

I am invisible.
A gentle wind, unseen,
wafting, not silent, yet still, unheard.

It is the storms that get noticed.
Fire. Fury. Lightening and the roar of thunder,
wild waves that swallow ships
and reshape the shoreline,
damaging as much as they heal.
a zero-sum game with blood and brokenness left behind,
immortalized, vibrant, viciously alive.

I am invisible,
a whisperer of truths,
easy to dismiss, a nearly empty landscape,
a refugee, caught in the next storm,
flotsam, little more.
Missed once gone,
but no one knows just why
your silenced whisper mattered.

About this poem

The picture was taken on Cape Code about three years ago.

A spiritual poem (God whispers). A poem about all who do not rage enough and at times feel rewarded by being rendered invisible for their gentleness.

Off to work.

Tom