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I came to the end of a
very long hall,
Where, all down the sides, there was written in scrawl,
A piece of a message, but only a piece,
But I could not read it at all.
I sat on the floor as I
looked at the wall,
The one just as long as the length of the hall,
And tried to decipher the things that it said,
But I could not read it at all.
I once was so mighty, but now I am small,
Because, I could not read the words on the wall,
I knew they were special and they were for me,
But I could not read them at all.
I broke down with
weeping and started to bawl,
Because, I could not read the words on the wall,
I tried to imagine the things they would say,
But I could not read them at all.
Then as I sat staring,
they started to call,
And then, very slowly, they jumped off the wall,
And painted a picture, as bright as could be,
I now read the words on the wall.
They told of a time
before, when I stood tall,
A time before I had decided to brawl,
A time before using the drugs and the drink,
A time before I lost it all.
They said I was now at
the end of the hall,
A time to decide and no longer to stall,
A time to run forward, no lagging behind,
But all I could do was to crawl.
So now I am left at the
end of the hall,
I'll never be free, but forever a thrall,
I'll ever be haunted by what I have read,
The words at the end of the hall.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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