The Sound of My Name (a poem)

I thought I heard your voice speak 

my name, but I wasn’t sure if it was you. 

It may have been the creativity of my own 

imaginings betraying the longings of my heart. 

Perhaps it was only the sound 

of the wind whistling past my ear. 

Or was it my own voice projected outside 

myself aching to be heard, at least, at last, 

by me?

I hope it was you. 

I turned my head to catch a glimpse

of you, and what you might look like. Yet

what I saw was the people whose souls  

and bodies filled the room. 

I did not see you

. . . unless . . .

unless you were present, right there, in

their midst, in their presence, 

whispering

my name on the breeze of their every breath

reminding me that I am remembered, that

I am loved, that 

my name is a song worth singing. 

Yes,

today I heard your voice speak

my name 

silently 

in the depths of me. 

  — bshivers