The writing on the wall
is bold, shouting
out to you, black
upon white, a
deafening whisper behind
your eyeballs, drowning
your thoughts in words
you had left

behind. The writing
on the wall is
exultant, proclaiming
His glory- musical, singing
of his greatness- pleading,
for deliverance from all
that plagues or
may come

to them. You remember when us
became them. This
writing on every wall
grows stronger the further
you look up, for hands
cannot touch the corners
near the ceiling, and tears
have only faded the letters past
the waterline of sobbing

prayers. The intricate writing
on these walls belies
their strength, every one
two meters thick, and you
sit inside these walls and try to listen
to the voices you
have been asked to hear, and
wonder how around so
much strength you
feel so constricted, so helpless.