Winter begins to nip at the leaves of trees. The air has grown sharper, and the days are shortened. Summer was prosperous—endless days of work permitted the fields of golden crops that now lay ready for harvest. The farmer gazes upon his work, though from afar, so he could not tell you how they truly are—only how they are everything he could ever desire, if only he could reach them. His happiness could not extend any higher. He could live his life in peace then—and only then.
Yet there stands a wall, towering tall, leaving him confined to merely peeking through a hole he's found within his enclosure—he is bound to fall. Running low from past years’ harvest, the man begins to regret the time he spent building up the bricks. He wasn't aware of the things he was doing or the consequences that would follow, but alas, he's found himself here. Stuck—
stuck with no idea for escape, with the exception of perception. He’s able to find cracks to look beyond his wall—it is flawed.
Some bricks are older, withered, and cracked. They tell stories, each with their own scars told from generations long and far. Yet they still stand reminiscing on the former glory of brighter days, caught in a broken, dreamy haze. While others are newer, brighter, and neatly stacked. They hold a broken promise despite a smooth surface; submerged within their purpose is fear. They find comfort in stagnation with the place they've been thrown—after all, it’s what they've always known.
The more he gazes through his wall, the more he wishes he hadn't built it so tall. He only wanted to protect himself from the danger that could come from beyond, but the only danger he was in was a light burn from the summer’s son. The crops beyond are beautiful and bright, although not for long. Don’t forget—winter is yet to be strung along. As seasons shed skin, the farmer’s spirit wears thin; the frost is coming, and so is snow. But deep inside, the farmer knows—he must grow.
As he watches the plants through the seasons, they change.
They break free from their shells to feel the warmth they yearned for underground.
—deep within,
They transform; they root themselves with truth to purify the lies that fly airborne.
And if not to grow, then to dwell inside a cage, never admitting the mistakes they've made.
Trapped in the shell of a past self, they hold regret for the path not chosen.
and die without knowing themself.
If only the farmer could break free of the chains that his fearsome heart resides in, to free himself of lies that keep him hypnotized, he would no longer live his life in aversion.
He would see,
There resides a soul of warmth and light; it tells the tale of life free of fear—in the place far outside of here.
These walls no longer protect they only project the fractured inner lining of a man who spends his days whining, wishing to be free, despite overlooking that it is him who's holding the key—the key to freedom for the place he dreams to be; but corruption of thought keeps him caught in a rut. And soon, the tie to life will be cut. They’ll wither away, and here the farmer will stay, trapped in his dismay. He needs to break away from his chains and find trust within to see. It is his mind in need of change.
—Yet a fool he will stay, because he cannot walk away. To rupture the wall is a task too tall. It has kept his heart hidden as generations before.
It's kept the pain away but still left his soul sore. After so long, this false protection is in need of demolition.
If not down with the wall, then to untouched harvest death will call, and to waste it will go—covered by ice and covered by snow. It’s such a shame to let go. If unable to change fate, the wall prevails; then when time comes to see the hail, the farmer's skin will turn pale.
Now opposed to the wall, this frittered farmer will fall.
He will set the final brick piece.
Then maybe his soul will find the peace he could not seem to reach.
Nov 23, 2025
Nov 23, 2025 at 5:29 PM UTC
Winter begins to nip at the leaves of trees. The air has grown sharper, and the days are shortened. Summer was prosperous—endless days of work permitted the fields of golden crops that now lay ready for harvest. The farmer gazes upon his work, though from afar, so he could not tell you how they truly are—only how they are everything he could ever desire, if only he could reach them. His happiness could not extend any higher. He could live his life in peace then—and only then.
Yet there stands a wall, towering tall, leaving him confined to merely peeking through a hole he's found within his enclosure—he is bound to fall. Running low from past years’ harvest, the man begins to regret the time he spent building up the bricks. He wasn't aware of the things he was doing or the consequences that would follow, but alas, he's found himself here. Stuck—
stuck with no idea for escape, with the exception of perception. He’s able to find cracks to look beyond his wall—it is flawed.
Some bricks are older, withered, and cracked. They tell stories, each with their own scars told from generations long and far. Yet they still stand reminiscing on the former glory of brighter days, caught in a broken, dreamy haze. While others are newer, brighter, and neatly stacked. They hold a broken promise despite a smooth surface; submerged within their purpose is fear. They find comfort in stagnation with the place they've been thrown—after all, it’s what they've always known.
The more he gazes through his wall, the more he wishes he hadn't built it so tall. He only wanted to protect himself from the danger that could come from beyond, but the only danger he was in was a light burn from the summer’s son. The crops beyond are beautiful and bright, although not for long. Don’t forget—winter is yet to be strung along. As seasons shed skin, the farmer’s spirit wears thin; the frost is coming, and so is snow. But deep inside, the farmer knows—he must grow.
As he watches the plants through the seasons, they change.
They break free from their shells to feel the warmth they yearned for underground.
—deep within,
They transform; they root themselves with truth to purify the lies that fly airborne.
And if not to grow, then to dwell inside a cage, never admitting the mistakes they've made.
Trapped in the shell of a past self, they hold regret for the path not chosen.
and die without knowing themself.
If only the farmer could break free of the chains that his fearsome heart resides in, to free himself of lies that keep him hypnotized, he would no longer live his life in aversion.
He would see,
There resides a soul of warmth and light; it tells the tale of life free of fear—in the place far outside of here.
These walls no longer protect they only project the fractured inner lining of a man who spends his days whining, wishing to be free, despite overlooking that it is him who's holding the key—the key to freedom for the place he dreams to be; but corruption of thought keeps him caught in a rut. And soon, the tie to life will be cut. They’ll wither away, and here the farmer will stay, trapped in his dismay. He needs to break away from his chains and find trust within to see. It is his mind in need of change.
—Yet a fool he will stay, because he cannot walk away. To rupture the wall is a task too tall. It has kept his heart hidden as generations before.
It's kept the pain away but still left his soul sore. After so long, this false protection is in need of demolition.
If not down with the wall, then to untouched harvest death will call, and to waste it will go—covered by ice and covered by snow. It’s such a shame to let go. If unable to change fate, the wall prevails; then when time comes to see the hail, the farmer's skin will turn pale.
Now opposed to the wall, this frittered farmer will fall.
He will set the final brick piece.
Then maybe his soul will find the peace he could not seem to reach.
I wrote this poem along with the song Out Getting Ribs by King Krule and its meant to be read out loud so it might not be the best in text format but hopefully its enjoyable :)
