This is not a pipe

A poem from my first year of university, when in a writing club

                    This is not a pipe
                          it is Life.
                    A time, a place,
                      but not a pipe.

                  What is it exactly?
              It is talking, without saying.
                  Being alive, not living
          Others listen and hear themselves

                Thus, this is not a pipe
              but is the illusion of a pipe
                hiding Truth unspoken

                Choosing not to speak
          speaking would shatter the illusion
              True feeling nakedly revealed

          This is not a pipe, but breaks as one
                        lies to rust it
            deception the weight that snaps

                Then all will see at last,
                  That this is not a pipe
                      Inanimate, cold
                  devoid of care or feeling

                        It is Human
                  That which is within all
                      We owe so much
                      yet pay so little.