Dainty fingers digging into heavy bricks.
Dusty red and orange cover her finger tips.
The bricks placed on bottom are what comes automatically.
Hard clay perfection, she must always be correct, grammatically.
Never late dinner, always dust the corner.
"Don't you mess up now,",
They have always warned her.
& now, after she has built the perfected base,
With each heavy brick, carefully in place,
She begins stacking the next levels.
Levels with heavier bricks.
Bricks of heavy hearts.
Hearts that won't forgive.
Now, this wall is turning sinister,
As the bricks of death are placed.
The death of love, death of truth,
And death of life and a lifeless embrace.
When the small girl steps back,
Her light dress flows with the wind,
Slapping into the brick wall again and again.
The storm has finally come.
It finally arrived.
It's strange how we pray for destruction,
In order to have life.
And with the winds of the storm, the brick walls shook.
Then lighting flashed, crashed, and struck.
The wall came tumbling down.
The young girl cried of joy, when she saw the center.
For the walls were hiding something that
Forgiveness and hate would never give her.
Slowly, she walked to it, to begin building.
Crystal bricks, made of the finest stone.
Then she saw the note folded on it, reading,
"Welcome Home."
YOU ARE READING
Memories and Days That Passed ·•° | P O E T R Y |°•·
PoetryLife throws us so many moments, sometimes it's hard to comprehend what we want to remember and what we want to forget. Either way, remembering or forgetting, that moment happened & how we face reality is up to us. This is poetry I wrote, based off o...
