Berlin Wall
We build our walls
Of bricks and stone
Of words and looks
High and wide
Piece by broken piece
Hurt by wounded hurt
Bridge by burned bridge.
Then we wait…
We feed, then water our hurts
Our broken dreams
Our bulbs of expectations
That never bloom
Without communication.
Without meaning what we say
Or saying what we mean.
Not acknowledging what we keep
Or knowing what to throw away.
We nurture these wounds
Like baby birds with broken wings
Tied to a nest unable to fly
Forced to stay
Behind too long.
All rights reserved. ©2009 by Sara Fryd
You always capture that which is so close to my knowing – though I have not given such precise articulation. So true.
Hmm. I guess part of me wonders if the wall is meant to keep things out, or things in.
Interesting perspective on this dear.
I love that last stanza. Beautifully worded, so eloquent and insightful.
so sad… so true… and, love the way you put it. Like the others, I love the baby bird comparison and last verse…
Isn’t it ironic that we seem to have plenty of words and looks to build walls but are suddenly at a loss for them when it is time to tear them down?
way too close to the bone – or at least a good reminder to hold more lightly – so some sweet breeze may sweep away -
We are our own worst enemies!
Love the analogy of the birds with broken wings Sara. That’s just beautiful. As always you express so profoundly a shared dilemma of the human experience.
for once..im lost for words.