random spouts of poetry Or Rants

whispers

I walk down a hall

One whisper

Two whispers

Three whispers

They think am an open book

The next day I show up

Doning something new

Ever time I walk in the room

The atmosphere changes

I have this effect

Because maybe am not so open

I create

Aspire to be something of a phinx

Because I resemble the bird

When you think am gone I'll come back

Like an eclipse

But you're never gana of I have a gun or a knife

Because am not the book

Nor the pen

Am the creator

But I am the writer

Dominant in my state

Even when I fall

For after a fall

All a dird can do is rise