The Telephone Game

. We were sitting in a circle. On a summer afternoon.

Passing little secrets. Like they might all bloom. Whispered in your ear.

Then it traveled down the line. By the time it got to me.

It wasn't anything like mine. Funny how a whisper grows louder on

the way. Truth gets tangled up in what people think they should

say. It's a telephone game. Spinning stories out of air.

What starts as something simple turns to something wild out there. Every voice adds

a color. Every mind adds a frame. And nothing sounds the same.