They say the walls have ears but, do they listen?
Again I count my fears.
I have a vision of me mumbling and tumbling down stairs.
I'm in a room all alone.
I recite a poem.
"Sometimes I want to die." I say to the paint that dries.
"Other times I wish to cry but nothing comes out." The wallpaper pouts.
"The world seems so tall and I feel so stout."
"I feel like such a hack." The walls slowly crack with time as I continue…
"My rhymes lack substance." So goes my venue.
In the dust, the rubble around me begin to speak.
"You made my structures weak." replies the meek, now crumbled crust.
"Listen to me and I hope you do trust."
Then it says something sounding so wise.
"We all have our falls… then our demise…
It’s the stuff in between that holds us together..
Your material is what makes you hold out the weather."
"Life can be… light as a feather.
Its you who gives it weight.
I hope you feel better…
I hope I'm not too late.."
It says to my bones as they too turn to dust.
Then the rubble sits with time… all alone… as it must…
You see the substance is what holds up the ceiling.
The substance is you and me… or am I being too revealing?
So stand tall and speak out.
Write rhymes if that’s your rout.
Call him. Call her. Call them…
Don't wait and don't let the lines blur.
Stand tall.
Don’t be a wall and wait.
Show that you listen.
You see this life... this fate can truly glisten.
