These Walls

These Walls

Inside of the walls,

There were countless possibilities

That my chances would be etched

Within the cracks of these concrete blocks.

Crows hang over, gliding by,

Vultures and hawks fight for the leftover

Carcass that sits and smells of death.

The smell of our own fate;

Let there be light at our own gate,

And may we be met without

Receiving late.

My own torch baron, my own

Brother or sister of war

And terror. Let it be not,

That we are the weak.