Free Verse
The Wall
There is a long, long stone wall. I am at its base. Not quite grey, not quite buff. And heavy, but well-placed mortar between the joints. It runs well above my head and curves slightly, Never enough to complete a circle. The cap is thick and made of concrete, The base impenetrable. I walk along, sometimes touching with my left hand and feeling its texture. Occasionally, recessed into the stone, There is a timber door, locked or bolted. If there is an inside, I am outside. I pass by it without trying to enter. I, alone, tread the path along the wall. Its loose gravel crunches underfoot. There is no evidence of anything living, No sky, no trees, no birds, no color, no weeds growing from likely cracks. Just me, and the wall, and the crunch of gravel beneath my feet. For eternity.
By Natalie Wilkinsonabout a month ago in Poets
memory merry-go-round
There were four, then three - and Three searched for Four and howled, looking – a full year - in all of Three’s hiding places. Suddenly two were left, which made room, of course, since the four had become two. Two again turned into four . Suddenly, four became three , and Three was happy to find that he was among three , not four. We missed Four , but Three did not . Then he, Three , died, too. Two more came along for a short bit. But again, the circle repeated: four became two , and the last ones, the two who arrived last, were here after the original two were gone. The Original Two gone! Was it twelve years? Sketched into throbbing hearts and pulsating brains, revolving on the memory merry-go-round. Then, the circular cycle repeated, taking one of the last two Followed soon by the second’s departure, L e a v i n g the h u m a n s as T w o , and B e r e f t .
By Andrea Corwin about a month ago in Poets
