The Wind’s Whisper

Thirty poets write a poem entitled, 
"The whispers of the wind,"
And every time it is of love and loss...
Of a woman's beauty never touched.
However, I see the bearded man with his lover
And their two great Danes, I think to myself,
"What a world, where not even these two are happy."
I see the greying of fall, and the leaves they perish
From off the branches. The Honeysuckle bushes lose their leaves
And look barren there... I realize that my soul cannot bear it.
I am not in love, and neither are they, and neither are anyone.
The college band sings at Wisconsin, and they jump for joy
But only for a moment... there is nothing but silence now.
It is better right now to have very little far to fall
For I see the autumnal world giving forth its branches;
Or as Christ says, the trees are giving their shoots.
Yet... what I would love to have Mercy in my arms
And I be Truth... and they be Peace and Righteousness.
Yet, it is hard to think so, because no one is happy these days.
No one can be happy, as the pangs of hell throng on every heart.
Therefore, I hope in life to come, and not this one
And God save me from the idol Jorgia.
For she sings her melodies upon the Westerly Winds
And cool crisp fall flows into the world
And poets are chilled by very few nuances.
So, I hope for joys, but in another life as this one it seems
Is coming to an end for many.
Yet, I still hope to find some blessing and token here, that can give me hope.