Thera are walls
That are seemingly too low – letting everyone jump over
To trespass and ransack
Where cameos are plentiful
Yet staying-power is thin

There are walls
That are too high, seemingly impossible to conquer
Where fears are domiciled and doubts have roots
And they linger with no effervescent life
Till a tombstone rises and weeds prosper

And there are some walls
Which are works of mortar between brick
That are broken down – seemingly like the Berlin wall
To free lips, to hyphenate-hearts
And to mate souls

When the wall-proof heart
Knows only the gale in the courtyard
Driving windmills beneath fiber
And sails beneath lips


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