Monday, November 15, 2010

The Wall by Chris Clapis

The fire outside burned a hole in the city
Left me to wonder how the wall would come down this time.
Not through the voice of authority, like in days past,
But by the voice of the people, echoing with love in the midst of the bombs.
Stop war, stop hate,
We cried.
But our tears couldn’t douse the flames;
Not quite.
Nor could they alone quench our thirst,
For a better world,
For a better life,
For peace.
But as they ran down our cheeks,
They washed the dust of everyday life.
They allowed us, with strength renewed,
To press onward,
Into the fire;
Into the crosshairs of the man,
sitting next to the politicians,
Just waiting for the order;
And to raise our voices,
So loud,
That the wall came tumbling down.
And in one last dying effort to obscure our sight,
The wall itself kicked up dust, and dirt, and anything else it could find,
But as it settled, and the sunlight broke through those floating particles,
For the first time in a long time,
We could see the other side.

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