Walls

of our making, with our blessing, so we build them
to keep it all in and all out, all the bits and pieces
that make us call this breath and life
so the love that mingles, and our illusions
of other that turns to disillusion and pain,
the loss of our dreams that wash us back
against those damn walls again,

and it's no use wavering over whether
we suffer or not, for the water boils
over with the misery of our failures as one
and as whole, whatever you drive and whomever
you fuck, it all comes back to that moment
of how we chose it, how we lifted ourselves
higher or drifted into the lesser of all evils

to see the choices, the freedoms of ours
crashed into the bricks of decision
and so we live these ways, accustomed to our
failures, certain in our beliefs, assured of entrance
somewhere if we tuck it all in right and walk
the boards with a turned up chin.