Thursday, September 24, 2015

Next to Me

There is a wall next to me.
It grows. 
It crumbles. 
Tendrils of green find their way through the gaps, 
Hope's Breath blooms. 

Some days, I forget it's there. 
Breezes fly through this valley
as in days disappeared. 
The mighty oak's branches rub against the stone.

Some days, the wall is the last anchor I have to you.
I lean, back sore, neck twisted
For there is depth below
That cannot be ignored which I must suck from the soil.

Some days, this wall is everything I fear
And other times it hides all I cannot face. 


So, this what it feels like. 
Not every day,
But in the slick-sweat stickiness of this moment
Or that. 
You dare to peek in the keyhole 
Of Pandora's black box
And as with an accident causing disruption on the road
It is an effort to pull your eyes away
From the disaster inside. 

The mind plays with architecture:
Bridge the gap,
Building walls,
A door closing. 
I stand in the doorway
While my foundation shudders around me. 
I don't know where I should stand. 
And after this moment...
What then? Where do I build?