trudge, traipse, troll and wane
bustling along the winding que
a sea of faces, a wave of masks
pondering along inured to all

walls of spikes held up high
forts these are, not open not whole
misery ridden hands writhe agape
solemn cries muddled in laughter
lights so bright, blinding at sight
the fates have been written
the bridges have been awoken

time heals all, but broken it has
the bridges the walls now open to all
a whole we become, the cries no more
trudge and wane, masks no more