The Wall

The Wall


Silent whispers echo off,
What time contests to doff,
But the blood stains run deep into the drywall,
Unbleached down the looming dark hall,
Painted over and ruined in the years,
Trying to erase the screams and fears,
Of what lie hidden just beneath,
Where monsters keep their gnashing teeth,
Slowly it cracks, chips, and falls away,
Driving it drags you back to the day.

Spotted and soaked over in wet and red,
Behind the piled bodies, the massacred dead,
Scarlet liquid stings your soul,
As horror swallows you whole,
Dark and drying black as lurid nights,
This metallic taste the stomach fights,
Stench of the rotting and dying still,
Victims of the miss-fire kill.

Long from here, the sunlight shown upon the once white wall,
You would hear, through the open window the song bird’s call,
Mist of gray film covered over the light,
To shed down on the wall a hew so bright,
Its essences so cold it would freeze breath,
And squeeze on your heart until death,
A luminance abyss sucking in all the sun,
That switched off the star at the sound of a gun.

The annihilated pushed into, like cattle for slaughter,
Human life defiled and desecrated, unfit for barter,
Lined in a row all before the long wall,
Hopefully oblivious to what would befall,
Until the first shot sound that struck deep into the flesh,
And bullets with screams intertwined in a bloodbath mesh,
Rushing stream bleed out over the floor,
The place where the sunlight shines no more.

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