Blinds - Original Poem

Talking to a wall is nice-it will listen, and it certainly won’t talk back but what makes blinds so different? they’ve a story to tell though a tongue they lack. Behind their odd corrugation, a silently spoken tale, it calls a promise of a future yet to be fulfilled- but still-crying wordlessly louder, the walls. The walls that remember each word that was said, that bore silent witness to the longing within; the longing for something beyond those walls, yet refusal to the blinds-to let the light outside in. The trepidation of the resident inside those walls of a future uncertain and a purpose unclear a desire to open up those blinds and look out yet their will quickly overwhelmed, nay quashed by fear. Will the hand that ceaselessly searches for more ever lift to the pull that will end that plea the blinds once melded with unresponsive walls opened to reveal destiny.