top of page

Listen by Hemlock

  • Writer: Eidolon Magazine
    Eidolon Magazine
  • Nov 7, 2024
  • 2 min read

From all sides of the story,

From the lies to the truth,

In your grief and glory,

I will listen to you.

To those who quake, who twist, who turn.

Who fret, but cannot fear. 

To those who are outspoken, but never heard. 

Now if you speak, I will hear. 

 

Over the years, I have been listening;

To those on all sides.

I know both shouts and whispering.

Now I will speak my mind.


Listen, to the Child on the streets, because they loved another.

Listen, to the Sibling, who weeps for their dead brother.

Listen, to the Anxious, who quakes from fear unknown.

Listen, to an Ailing Bird, frozen chilled to the bone.

Listen, to a Woman, fighting for her place.

Listen, to a Young mind, getting crushed with no space.

Listen, to the Rose, surrounded by thorns.

Listen, to not a doe, but a Stag with great horns.


Listen, to the Red, the Bronze, the Black, and the Gold.

Listen, to the Fair, the Poor, the Warm, and the Cold.


Listen, to the Quiet, who never speaks a word.

Listen, to the Fast, whose energy soars like a bird.

Listen, to the Confused, who think they are lost.

Listen, to the Beggar, who had the greatest cost.Listen, to the Admired, who people think will never fall.

Listen, to the Petrifying, whose gaze will frighten all.

Listen, to a Person lost in a storm.

Listen, to the Sadness this world has born.


To those who whisper and lie.

Who tried to sing other’s tales.

You have your own, do not deny,

As for certain, you will fail.

I will listen to the fallen.

I will listen to the strong. 

And when this world forgets their tale,

I will sing their song.

 
 

Recent Posts

See All
The Line by Tejas Abert

For months, people have accepted the line—a single-file march that curls through the town. No one knows where it ends or when it started; they only know to stay. It stretches a great distance, down th

 
 
And So You Grieve by J William Meek

And so you grieve Never to let me cede Ever the lasting greed To control your constant needs And so I’d die That future son of mine Would love to imply The only time he’d rest, is the day he’d die And

 
 
How to Hold Time by Mayme Killeen

Close and intimate, my roots mingle with those of the pines. Nettles cushion the floor, opening the forest to an unshakable quiet. My leaves brush against my neighbors’ as we sing the song of seasons,

 
 

© 2025 • THE EIDOLON • WALT WHITMAN HIGH SCHOOL

bottom of page