Whispers in an Empty Room

She sat in the silence of the tomb

and opened the envelope,

now empty and torn,

though it once held

a letter written on

perfume-scented paper

decorated with lavender flowers.

She knew the words by heart,

reciting them to anyone

who might listen.

If she could give them all away,

then the words may

have a life of their own

spiraling past chimney smoke

And gabled roofs to travel

to stuffy and cold sitting rooms

in far-away places.

Each syllable finding a path

that will secure its own immortality

and flaunt contempt

for those who hear the whispers

of the wind and mistake it for

their own voice.