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.