There are barbs that separate the shades of light
Windows to a world of ebullient dreams and utopian skies
Which sieve the crimson hue and squalid stench
These borders that separate the significant from the condemned.

The walls along this great divide shall crumble one day
Yet, the vestiges of this pain, etched shall remain
And though for those tormented, no healer, no cure
There shall always be raindrops that rust both sides of the chain.