Walls

A poem about walls

The fire of passion long burned out
Replaced by feelings and ideals of doubt
Only ashes remain in my heart
And even they are soon to depart

A heart where war has always been waged
And the winds are like a hurricane
Yet it still stands strong
Despite the chaos it fights all along

But the wall can no longer see
Past it’s own black and grey
It has lost hope for night to turn to day
As it stands alone in all it’s pain.

And it weeps its blood
A pouring flood
And it slowly turns dark
As it forgets what its fought

So what is the cause
Of this pain with no pause?
Of the growing hatred
That lusts with great passion?

Was it the loneliness in it’s depths
Or the knife stabbed in its back?
Was it the darkening Earth
Or the memories of it’s own past?

And yet, despite it all,
It still stands tall
With more and more walls
But no matter how tall

A single wall
Will creak and crack
Until it crumbles down
As shards of stone and rubble