The Wall

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I can hardly see it'
The wall is built so high.
I hear it pulse. Each beat, a new moment.
The rhythm being pounded out in secrecy,
Hidden from the world.

Trapped on the outside
The wall is cold and hard beneath my fingertips.
It stands, towering above me,
Like an unwanted monument
That refuses to erode with time.

The jagged exterior bites into my palm.
Each scratch inflicting a painful wound.
I refuse to go. I will not leave
Because spilt blood means nothing'is nothing.
The pain of loss is greater.

I question you often
With my own heart and mind
Making queries as to what
Resides inside the walls
That you have shut yourself behind.

But I ask no more;
I have carved a tall, strong door
Melding it with the wall flawlessly.
I stand at the threshold always hoping:
One day, it will open.





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