Poem-If The Walls Had Eyes

 

There’s a barrier put up by reality, a shield.

No matter what blow is dealt to it, it won’t yield.

A façade that hides the truth and puts on an awkward smile,

All the while, behind it, fear grins from a windowsill,

Looking out on a dark and ghoulish field,

And there are walls that comprise most homes.

But not homes of love, instead of a garden with gnomes,

There are bones beneath the earth, and skeletons in closets,

Beneath faucets, under stones, underneath beds.

The causes are unknown, there’s haunting dread.

But there’s hope as well, a beacon in the daunting dark,

In the belly of the beast, in the jaws of the shark.

A book could be written about the mind’s influx of lies,

An epic poem about hidden truth could be devised,

 

 

 

if the walls had eyes.

 

 

 

If the walls had eyes, if the windows were spies,

Slaves to shadow and servants to silence,

What their eyes would voraciously feast upon,

The doubt and fear of violence in the fake song.

The wrongs and rights of a struggling marriage,

The true reason behind a hearse on a carriage,

The betrayal of a wife while her husband’s at work,

The ripping of intestines, trust, and worth,

The feelings and emotions that cause the pen’s black blood

To spill and create worlds to escape into,

The breaking in two of bonds and ties,

The lies that hide behind the cheerful “hi’s.”

All these are revelations that would plague

The blank slates that the mind confines,

But this would happen only when and

 

 

 

if the walls had eyes.

 

 

 

 A child staring up, hopeful God is listening,

Hands tightly glued together, eyes beautifully glistening,

A storm of thoughts brewing in the blocks

The mind’s metropolis is separated into, the shots

Of liquor a shaking hand holds on to tightly,

A drunken father’s lifesaver, the ensuing shouts

That evolve like a cut into a gangrened wound,

Into ear-shattering, throat-ripping, violent bouts,

A Christmas Day, a Thanksgiving dinner,

The saints, the suing, the sued, and the sinners.

The new, the not so new, the nagging, the bragging,

A gambling addicts bad or good luck,

A couple involved in a bad or good fuck,

A man enjoying what he deems a good murder,

Blood spilling, killing, rape, pain, and hurting.

If this was all public, privacy would die

But maybe for the best,

 

 

 

if the walls had eyes.

 

 

 

The barriers would come down, clowns would frown,

The fake smiles erased, and the theater of deception,

Would come crashing down around us.

Love, hate, hope and lust, would all be a STOP sign.

Or maybe they would become a popular song.

Or perhaps these feelings would be viewed as wrong.

They could also turn into a park bench,

So people could sit on them and attempt secrecy.

But then they would turn into the mouths of “friends,”

And would travel from lip to lip, and in the end,

They would be popsicles bathed with everyone’s spit.

They would be public stowaways on boats and planes,

And would travel the world, across mountains and plains.

This world simply would not be the same.

So weighing pros against cons, I leave the ball on your side

Of the court, I leave it up to you to decide.

Dear Reader, would it be better or worse,

 

 

(I restate the verse,)

 

if the walls had eyes?