Again and again the walls speak

always the same words drowned out

by echoes of the conversation in the room

Silence lives behind every voice

only waiting to be heard, dissected

to reveal a thousand stories hidden there

begging to be told by a voice long ago broken

that isolation is a gift given to the weary

only now bent on summoning the will to speak

to say anything at all if it means breaking the silence

Ready to scream at the sun if it will draw out the shadows 

desperate only for an ear, dead or alive

to listen as it grapples with eternity

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Aren’t we all?

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Photo by Pierre Acobas on Unsplash