Let Them Talk
In every town and every street, where idle minds and shadows meet,
There lives a breed of restless soul, who makes the lives of others whole—
By picking at the fraying threads, by planting seeds in neighbors' heads,
By weaving webs of "did you hear?" and whispering in a willing ear.
They gather 'round the morning brew, with nothing better left to do,
Than catalog a stranger’s sin and let the weary games begin.
They watch the way you walk the road, they weigh the burdens of your load,
They measure out your every step, and count the secrets that you’ve kept.
With eagle eyes and sharpened tongues, they draw the air into their lungs,
To blow a spark into a flame, and tarnish every honest name.
For in their world of gray and small, they love to watch a giant fall,
To find a crack within the glass and watch the fleeting shadows pass.
It matters not if truth be told, for stories turn from lead to gold,
When polished by a bitter heart that’s mastered every cruel art.
They’ll take a word you said in jest and put it to a grueling test,
Until it looks like something dark, a jagged stone, a burning spark.
They judge the clothes upon your back, and find the virtues that you lack,
While sitting on a throne of straw, identifying every flaw.


