I was left with nothing
Devoid of my resolve
Stripped of all my vanity
Beaten down
like the path
on the grass of the lawn

I wandered door to door
begging for form
All that was granted
were the curses from
the day I was born

There the rocks
of the wall between us
began to fall
Some rolled down
to the ocean
Some rolled not at all

There was little risk
involved
Just the commotion written
and the false hope
that appals

So I turned back
the grip of time
I cut tbe ropes
that bound

I imagined a place
of perfect form
in the words of
my rhyme