The Walls by Almira Lewis

The walls tell a story,
Of the broken whispers,
Infused with the haunting cries,
Of that kit-Kat child,
Easily daunted by the touch,
Of the superior man,

One of those men,
Momma lets in,
Because her disease is on an overdrive for victims,
She’s climbed the hierarchy,
And now the highest level is not as soothing,
So, she invites demon in,
After a quick fix, she receives her fixer…

The walls tell a story,
Of the cob-webbed stomach,
The darkness of the only house,
Without lights tonight,
Then there’s the eviction notice,
But its not the typical home,

Momma took off with the stranger,
That close friend she had,
Daddy always knew would slowly steal her away,
Now he’s the big man of the house,
Trying to make ends meet,
But the ropes just won’t get tied together…..

The walls tell a story,
Of the musical prodigy,
Born into the privileges of the white picket fence,
The only analogies he knows,
Are those of the winners of every Nobel Prize,
The famous composers of classical music,
The infinity of numbers,
Just like his parent’s money,
To look at the poor as unwilling to escape their daily reality

But his parents are never home,
He has accepted the replacement of his nanny’s theatrical voice,
For theirs,taking a role she ought not to,
It’s all in the game,
The gifts bought to replace the warmth of a mother’s touch,
Or the beauty in the sternness of a father’s warning,
He is the privileged but, there is no privilege….

The walls tell a story,
The story of the Latino,
Not authentic enough,
Because her role model is Hallie Berry and not J.Lo,
She is not the stereotype set before her,
She is not slutty or a drunkard or in some kind of joke gang,
But a straight A student,
Applying for the prestige scent Harvard leaves on its guests
She is easy on the eyes,
And stubborn in the head,
Knowing the danger of her neighborhood will soon be the past of her existence….

The walls tell stories,
Some never to be repeated,
Some stuck in the transit,
Waiting on the person who dares release the dark,
Because although some of these stories possess light,
Dark seem to take precedence,
Demons seem to override any hope,
Cried unto the ears of the never-leaving pillows,
The angels in their conquest to vanquish may arrive on time,
Most times,
However, the remaining few,
Often face a fate of tragedy,
Featured on the front page,
Of Shakespeare,
Their souls are stolen forever imprinted in the walls

So, open your eyes and ears,
And look around,
Before the walls swallow,
An unsuspecting soul,
Guard your hearts and guard your thoughts,
Even in trials,
Preserve the hope,
Let not your fate,
Lurk in the walls!



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