There's a wall,
A rather odd wall,
Towering over the trees.
Made of glass bricks,
Giving you the illusion
It's not actually there,
But you can't really
See through them.
There's a portion
Made up of carnival
Mirrors,
And lined notebook
Paper,
And pens.
There's a paper flower vine,
Every few feet.
And a herd of excuses
Here
And
There.
Some half painted
Canvas',
And song lyrics,
And poem verses
Stretching highest.
And a mile of it
Made of nights I held
A cold wash cloth to my face,
So no one could tell I was crying.
And a few bricks of a
Sense of ongoing.
And some cement blocks
Mixed with loneliness
And longing.
All dribbled over
With coffee, mod podge
and candle wax.
There's a boy,
A rather strange boy,
Trying to dig through
The laughs and jokes,
With nothing
But a couple well place words.
There's a fire,
Started by a lighter
In my hand,
On the inside of the wall.
The laughs and jokes,
Giggle nervously
As they're tossed away,
And evaporated.
But they keep
Breeding,
With the smiles
And sarcasm,
And everything I use
To keep people
Out.
And maybe,
I'm not trying.
Maybe sometimes,
We grow to love
Our mighty walls.
But maybe we all need to
Remember...
They aren't only blocking out
What we're afraid of,
But what we hope for.