If walls could speak

If walls could speak
they'd speak in whispers

of sad tales of orphans and delinquent girls lost

of convicts with gunpowder, quarrying stone

and prison views across the bay

of warehouses on water 
and winds which whistle down the Heads. 

They'd speak of Ship Builders and Joiners' shops

and of utter isolation and decay.

Of dark light pushing through

...of lonely gulls waiting for a mate

... and of freedom, broken by iron bars.

If walls could speak 

they'd echo broken spirits and endless summer days

followed by desolate nights.

They'd tell of tattered hearts amongst navy ships and dark shadows

... and of walls...
walls of sandstone
walls of brick
walls of iron 
walls of wood.

But walls don't speak here,

For you see ...

 it's all plainly written on their faces.

© 2013 Francesca Muir