Small Voice

I hear a voice ring loud and clear

And I look around quite in fear

That perchance it might be mine.


What is this strange young thing I have found?

— It really is quite strange —

But there it lies in this noisy city on the ground

Waiting for a change.


You see, I found it in the Windy City

(my parents had long gone fled)

It was either that or starve.

How else was I to be fed?!


The months before were pretty,

But high school with the same old people

Was like trying to carve

On an age old steeple.




Oh the horror of carving on an age old steeple

That fulfilled its purpose forevermore.

Why change a thing in the institution,

When those kids didn’t know what anything was good for?


So I stayed quiet.


Till I found myself on a busy street corner

Spinning round and round in the madness

Of an art student’s heyday of

Sleepless night


Nightless sleeps because

Nothing nothing nothing




Is as it seems of an art student’s work

Because a billion



meanings come from each stroke of creativity they relate

To their lives and yours,

Though they don’t mean to say any of it at all.


They just like glitter.


What is sleep?

Because I had no clue,

I was in too deep

To even say the sky was blue.


Though the sky isn’t blue you fool

because of some scientific mumbo jumbo I can’t relate

In my mind’s pool

Of forgotten dates.


So I stay up another night

And forget what water is

To win another fight

With coffee at my side.


Last week I heard a voice ring loud and clear

And I looked around quite in cheer

To find that it was mine.


This poem is about: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741