The Wall

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The Wall.
I sit before it, cross legged
Behind this Wall of mine.
Constructed from my insecurity
And all I am loathed by.

I cannot undermine this wall of mine
For it stretches deep beneath the soil of who I am
Into the bedrock of who I once was.
The Wall is rooted into my self-doubt, self-pity
And my internal fears.

This wall of mine is a border
A definite meridian
Between whom I am
And whom I wish to become.

My past, and my future.

The Wall forbids me to stare at the sun
Or the rising of the sun in the morn.
The wall only allows me to witness
Hopelessness, travesty and sorrow
In this place I am abandoned.

The soil that I seem to exist upon
Is not even mine.
I am held aloft by everyone whom I know.
Those who hope for the best for me
And kindly donate their wishes.

But what good is to come to you
From someone else wishes
When there is no flame inside you
To nurture?

Often I stare at the Moon
Fore I hold her too close to be lost.
Each night I wish could be as strong as her:
To be constantly battered and bruised
And yet still have to strength to leave one’s own solace;
And show one’s face and shine for all to see.

The Wall separates me from all I once knew.
I ask myself if I am on the outside looking in,
Or perhaps I am on the inside staring out.
Am I a stranger in my own skin?
Or just someone who has not had the courage
To talk to strangers?

I wish I could destroy The Wall
Piece by towering piece.
But I fear in order to conquer The Wall
I must conquer myself for the process to begin.

Is there a method to my madness?
Or have I joined the Greats?
Becoming mad pondering over my methods?

There is little one can do
When confronted with The Wall.
All we can do is scour our thoughts
Searching for a solution to a Wall
That we have placed in front of us.

(This in no way, shape, of form, relates to Pink Floyd's album by the same name.)





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