Hoarse Poem by Onoma 888

Hoarse as the silence Virgil
wore...to allow for a clearing,
be it a soul.
A spring breeze caught in the
throat of winter saith: 'Here
is your point (remain) ...when
I cease to blow, so shall you
return.'
At the farthest end of loss...
at the closest reach of gain,
their one and the sameness
shall impress a telling.
Hoarse as the silence Virgil
wore...to allow for a clearing,
a soul saith unto itself thus.