On the Other Side of the Wall
I heard you picking up the pieces,
bending down inside a quiet spin of confusion.
If only you could have been there.
I heard you picking up the pieces,
gathering letters from our alphabet to make sense.
How could the hum of wonder have become where we were only to show everyone where we've been sent?
I hang my head inside your closet just to be loved by you
and then I listen to nature and some of it's violent truths,
with you in the photograph of it all,
to push me with your stability and trying to be a compass that I don't need and you are steadily pointing North.
Really, I believe.
Laugh, I die.
I don't believe
you heard me right.
I heard you picking up the pieces.
Actually, I didn't listen to what was said.
I stood there and smiled before I let you have your way.
It always ends that way to keep you and our peace,
maybe one day will come when you will listen to me.
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On the Other Side of the Wall is about thin construction of property that's grown into. There are muffled tones that let the listener know that somebody is there talking, although not necessarily being listened to, and sometimes wondered about.
