The walls are made of no more but cement
But, on this cement you plastered your life
Posters, coasters, and magazine covers
With twelve thousand stories to tell
Their mouth has been silenced
Robbed of your voice in a drop of a pin
[The shell of the oyster, missing it's pearl,
Now served cold over ice]
The chalk to the board never seemed so loud
The room was empty
But the walls still covered
[The deathbed of the finest men,
Left a mess that no one dared touch]
The hands of the clock,
As sinewy as the fingers that opened my eyes,
Take sweet time to move
The stories are trapped in this room
[An old house, haunted by a thousand souls,
No exorcist had the courage]
The pictures keep talking to me.
They want me to want you to come back.
A contest entry
- Can You Withstand a Blunt review? by NoseRingGirl.
950 points, ended May 8, 57 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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