A wall

“Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out.
And to whom I was like to give offense.”​

​

Robert Frost (1874-1963)​

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________________


Our world of words sleeps segregated
a wasteland reeks of grief - what sorrow
A brilliant mind lies down emaciated
once pristine thoughts, desecrated.

A grave that silent keeps
sweet nothings fails to weep, but
had I known that thoughts alone
won’t build a bridge, a dome or niche,
had the wind whispered to my ears
sewing stitches has a grand glitch,
I’'d not have spoken, reigned my fears
kept their mouth silent, cut strings with shears.

A mute I'd be that’s quite content, but not repent, but not pretend.
Children’s play the sway of wind

play they will, play they won’t, I wonder of tomorrow and, now
and then, I sleep for if I stay my soul is true to weep and weak and stumbling, I will fray.
Alone I am, I've never been, still, a game alone I don’t condemn, but it’s the play of children segregated wrought and foul, disdainful play,
I hate and I berate it.

There is no laughter and death comes riding faster, faster.
One cannot stay, unless of course, it is to keep a feat, to beat death’s horse
before it sweeps without remorse
all words, a verse.

It is of course a dead one
-the horse I'd beat for feat-
hoping to save a mind emaciated,
worlds apart, mere thoughts away,
a word from rhyme and verse so segregated.
​

 

Beautiful and deeply poem my friend, everyone has souvenirs of the life, my congratulations and my always hugs for you.

 

Thank you Cesar,

In any language, in every one of them, your thoughts are always kind and very much appreciated!

-A huge hug : )