If words could be spoken by these murals,
That were so intricately crafted,
By average individuals —
With average minds, average ideas;
Whispers would be heard from spraycans
On the other side of town.
They’d tell you about their horrible intentions:
To restore heritage, peace, humanity.
“Vandalism” you hear the mayor exclaim in disgust.
“Beauty” you hear the artists murmur in unison,
The same group that decreased the crime rate by 46%,
The same group that united the outsider Muslim population.
All of which started with a paintbrush
That dipped its hairs in a rose-petal red
And sprawled across a blank canvas.
The backside of the vulnerable brick building:
Otherwise known as the wall of infinite potential,
Opened itself up like a butterfly’s wings
Only to be remembered as property damage.
A destructed society, a broken promise
To the children who aspire to construct—
The pleasure is nonexistent,
Determined by officials that there is
No room left for creativity.