Brick walls

tower above

hindering sight.

Not even tip-toes

facilitate perspective.

Her footprints lie outside

the walls like fallen leaves

Their forms unknown to her

their descriptions insufficient.

Saturated walls of distress hold

attempted depictions of footprints

engraved with hope for resemblance.

Discerning individual prints is unfeasible

She confronts this impossibility every day

Some were initiated with her imagination

Others embody a perfect resemblance

Many drawn only from descriptions

Overlapping and sharing marks.

Dust amasses and ivy crawls

Wrinkles point to her nose

Sanity escaped long ago

Her search will never

cease. A question

burrowed deep

within. What

is Truth?