In my travels I recall this old and dusty wall.
I gazed upon it in wonder for months, wasted my younger years away...
I stood up at it, asking questions, "who could have made such a masterpiece? What did it take to put each brick into place?"
This wall mocked me.
I dare not climb it, for it was too tall, what if i fall?
I looked for a way in, but no door nor window, to get inside.
to dig under surely ment suicide..
So as I camped out side the wall I began to go crazy, hearing whispers telling me to leave, go home, and turn back, for there was nothing for me here.
I scratched at the wall, carved my name in stone.
A traveler walked by and told me what I had become, a sick man spreading sadness... For my wall that I found was a mirror, and I was tortured by the sight of it, the whispers telling me to leave were my own voices trying to help...