What once was whole is splitting at the seam,
With roaring tongues that never find a word.
Each stands alone, entranced by their own dream,
While fear doth arm the gates with aim absurd.
The bridge between us withers into dust,
A chasm wide where voices fade to air.
Yet in our hearts still burns this ancient trust—
The longing for a hand extending ear.
But how to reach when dread hath drawn the line?
When walls are built of pride and weary doubt?
We stand as statues, yearning for a sign,
Yet know not how to call the silence out.
O break the curse—let all division cease,
For love still speaks the only tongue of peace.
© Jill Szoo Wilson, 2025
Read more by Jill Szoo Wilson on Substack.
Necessary Whispers 