Dead Faces

In halls of white we walk

imprisoned here by the gaze of dead faces

We search in those glassy depths for meaning

but find only brush strokes that the artist has forgotten

and the world goes on slowly spinning

trapped with us beneath those piercing stares

defiant to the walls that dare to contain it

but they have

And if the world is trapped

then those dead eyes hold no knowledge

or long ago lost the chance to whisper their truth

and now let words fall silently away

A weakness in the air speaks softly of the wall

its fault line fuses hidden in plain sight

waiting for a wandering hand to find the flame

and knock it to the gasoline-soaked floor

Turns out it’s hard to find good sledding hills in downtown Denver. Who knew?

Photo by gdtography from Pexels

7 thoughts on “Dead Faces

  1. The writing on the walls…it is always there before someone enters this chamber you have written about. You have described it well…something for people to never agree to “die” for. When I fly through there I have to sing and some of the life joins in…then the party is alive and on and on and on…

    Liked by 1 person

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