The Whisper

Eyes shut for a thousand years;
All senses numbed, all feelings crushed,
I sit here, waiting for my Maker.
I’m afraid to open my eyes- afraid of the world;
Afraid of the sights that await me-
To which dark temptation will I fall prey?
But a gentle whisper wrings my nerves;
It’s not the Grim’s voice- which I long to hear;
But a sweet murmur, a promise of a better world;
The voice urges me to open my eyes and see the beauty-
Hidden everywhere, but tangible to the groping hands;
Beauty, which overflows in every little deed of Man,
The vilest creature on earth.
The whisper dies away and finally withers;
Alas! I’ve missed my lone chance of salvation;
Will I ever hear that voice again?
I know not and I pray that I don’t:
I don’t want to open my eyes- and see what I’ve become.