The ceiling tiles
Have a lot to say.
They whisper daily
About the same old things.
They hold our heartbreak
And our lackluster ways.
They're in our home,
It's where they'll remain.
But not to worry,
They remember the peace,
The laughing nights,
And the many movies.
They keep the rain out;
Most of the time.
A roof we rent
Is on the opposite side.
Under them is
Our little old home.
We clean it up
So we won't feel alone.
So when we stare up
At the ceiling from bed,
We can be thankful for
The tiles above our heads.