Writing On the Walls
Graffiti frames the tunnel's tomb, beneath the city's core
where writings stretch upon the wall in dialects profane
A hallmark of the day's routine, but often shares the scene
where silent fears have set apart the lives that mingle here
The masses wait in every shade, each one who shares the grind,
And day, by day, the same routine, they wait, but never see
the writing on the wall displayed, each life so out of touch
Too occupied for reaching out to be the other's friend
No glance, no chance to say hello to the stranger by your side
A wall has grown to come between the hand of humankind
They board as one, but coldness churns through veins beneath the ground
Habits honed have deafened ears to echoes all around
Distance tumbles through the aisles, small words too frail to say
"How are you, what can I do to help you smile today?"
No hands to grasp, no questions asked, just eyes in downward glance,
A phone in hand, whatever land, beyond all human touch
As seasons pass, left in the dust the silence breeds and feeds
more apathy, that beats the heart, as cold and hard as stone..
The sound of silence just rumbles on, until the walls come down
__________________________________________________
The Wall Contest:
Sponsor Anthony Slausen
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
