The Wall

I find myself staring at the wall,
asking it to become a mirror.

Hoping instructions will appear,
engraved in the marble affront me.
To show me proof
of justice, kindness, sweat-equity.

Walls display the stories of a place
in the dialect of long slabs and smooth cuts 
Upon their surface the fragments of life,
the runoff of all heavy emotions.

From elevating, surpassing 
metaphors of might,
To picture frames, crayon scribbles, nail holes
Giving a canvas to the night and light

Walls divide and conceal,
Reveal and heal
Insulate against force,
Witness terror with remorse

I want the wall to talk to me,
Tell me all it has stood to see
Humble me with all it knows
From what ebbs and flows and comes and goes

Someday soon I’ll climb this wall
leaving handprints in my wake.
As a reminder for all that life can give,
and the other walls I’ve yet to stake.

This is a poem I didn’t mean to write for my blog, but wanted to post somewhere. I enjoy the feel of poetry and deciphering meanings from phrases; I think the most effective way to convey meanings beyond literal words is to give words patterns and rhythms so that they can speak in multiple dimensions. I started writing this poem when I felt particularly emotional (a mixture of nostalgia, vestigial pondering and sentimentality), and this is the final product.