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Poem

They say walls have ears and listen to the secret whispers of the night,
but have they ever heard my tears, the entwined and broken words,
confessions rising like steam above a heart burning in silence,
while the murmur of pain flows like an unseen river through cracks in cold stone?
If the walls had a voice, they would whisper secret answers in a gentle murmur,
like wind through the branches of a forgotten tree, guiding lost steps in the darkness,
offering me refuge in their soothing song, the stone caress of unshared love,
an echo that soothes the shattered desires of my soul, like a sweet comfort in the night.
As the night lays down like a carpet of black velvet, the shadows grow,
drawing stories only the heart can read, a dance of lost souls,
and if, instead of being silent witnesses to my unrest, they would sing an old lullaby,
I would find the sweet sleep of forgetting, a moment suspended between dream and reality, a gentle refuge.
They say walls have ears, but I wish they had the voice of an eternal friend,
a companion of silence that answers me, calming the storms of my heart with warm whispers,
to be the beacon in the endless night of my solitude, offering solace beyond words,
in a world where only the echoes of desires are heard, whispering the truths I have not spoken.

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