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

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