Wall with Hole, Micagoto
As if we have forgotten why we built those walls
How could we? Under fire from their scathing words, burning, scalding.
Enforcing expectations exceeding our mortal limitations,
We put up those stone constructions, to prevent our own destruction.
For fear of our self degradation, we force ourselves into isolation, a lonely existence, yes but a safe one, free from a perceived desolation.
Why the walls, well, what else was there to do?
The world we were taught, now fraught with anger,
The sun’s a stranger, its warmth seemingly cold,
While the moon brings danger, and under its pale light, children like you, and once us, grow old.
When every second is a brawl for survival, is there a time for a tradition impractical?
In a world where people fight hook and claw, tooth and nail to see another day,
Look me in the eye, don’t flinch, and tell me if there is another way
In such a situation, does one have time for a childhood?
While I don’t mean to be misunderstood, there’s only a small likelihood.
What good does it make?
Existing, living, loving, dying, how far will we be pushed, what will it take, until we break?
Out of fashion? More like out of sight, and out of mind.
We live and die in a world, unjust and blind.
So we stare into the water, if we can bear the sight.
What is reflected? Broken dreams? A face ingrained with regret? An image of our whole life dissected?
Truth be told, all I see is me, distorted, the mirror shattered and broken, choices and mistakes
Fueled by reckless abandon.
Gone are the heroes and monsters, hiding in the clouds.
And with them, we lay to rest our childlike wonder on a funeral shroud.
Maybe, once, we watched those leaves on the stream, dancing, lilting.
But the winter has frozen the current, swirling leaves fading and wilting.
Time is of the essence, and there are things to be done, battles to be won.
But at what cost? What price? What then? What now?
