Walking the halls,
ivory lined and speckled
with a hint of abuse,
you look for an answer,
or quite possibly the
question.
Back and forth,
as if there was some
rhythm to the day.
Silent bells ring and
the halls are clear;
left to themselves,
to reflect their bits
of speckled abuse.
Only the humming of
certain water faucets
to keep them company.
Until silent bells ring
again, and you continue
your journey back
--and forth.

Rebecca Black