And it whispered through the streets and whispered through the trees. A word of power, lost to time and never heard by deaf ears. It whispered to men, whispered to women, it whisper to child and beast.
It travelled the world on gusts of wind, never-resting, always searching for an ear to hear. It became hoarse and wispy in breath, but still it whispered and hoped.
A word is power. It knew this, and felt its own power dwindle. It had whispered to the horrors of man. On the field of battle, on the bed of death, on the crime and cruelty…it whispered.
It knew of hope and whispered there. The birth, the love, and the righteous. Even with those not wrapped in pain, its whisper was only silence.
Years passed and people died and new ones replaced ten fold. It whispered in cities of silver steel and whispered with less hope. Greed had grown with the violence of man and the world was noisier than ever. It whispered to men, it whispered to women, and whispered to child and beast.
The whisper was tired, its voice was dry and soon it would fade and end. It mustered the courage and pushed to be heard until the whisper screamed its word…
On a bench, by a tree, by a pond in the sun. He lifted his head and smiled. “Of course,” he said as tears rained down…and the whisper slept at last.


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