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.
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.
We all build walls. But I try to remember those famous words: "Mr. Gorbachov...tear down this wall!" :)
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