Stories of a Wall

I remember a day back far long away, stuck in my deepest memory.
There was this wall, that stood, a strong pillar of reality. I remember
that wall well, for it had a crack that spread, dissecting through
monotony. Its spider webs persisting, touching grasping at my
subconscious. A crack of imperfection, asymmetry born in the ebbing
tide of wear and tear. Its presence an ocean of rain, as the children
climbed and played and the sirens echoed in danger. I remember that
wall for it had eyes, it saw me grow from child to mind. Memories
locked in its cement foundation, graffiti torn thoughts I remember that
wall well. For it told me a history of memories.

It told me that it laughed at the children. Hop scotch, the girls
played, while the boys pried. Following colonies of ants, magnifying
lenses birthed the pyromaniac. Cartwheels, flip after flip it smiled at
innocence. Kicking football after football, back to superstar cleats.
Water balloon fights in mid July, skipping ropes dancing in harmony to
the chuckle of children.

It told me that it shivered in the cold winter. It bore the brunt, of
natures frigid touch. Snow drift after drift, blanketed it snored
through hibernation. A corona/crown of icicles, the wall was royalty as
autumn lay buried deep. Bugs no longer scurrying, the wall meditated
alone through the solemn call of bitter cold. Meditation in the
shivering cold, of frost tinged months of solitude.

It told me that it cringed at vomit thrust nights. Cheap liquor a
favourite, as tattered men saw the shine of gloom. Belches, exploding
spraying its face full of filth. Meeting point for the insane, the wall
drank from the soil. Cheap wine, fermented grains, tipped bottles, all
trickling together. Rats scurried through the drink, as urine tainted
its healing powers. The wall drank through periods of
drunkenness.

It told me it cried at the sirens, and yellow tape. Shuddering it
gasped at the ring of gunshots, and the running stampede. Dope deals
gone wrong, it watched as blood trickled back to earth. Crack pipes,
hissing for a fix, mangled and worn. Paranoia of kids sniffing glue,
scorching their minds. Bullies corralled the week, beating after
beating the cries of the innocent shook the wall for all its
tears.

It told me it sighed in peace, to the burning spliffs. Searches for
meaning, philosophers were made from that wall. Everything yet nothing,
amassed in the parody of intellectualization. Virgin tokes, and roaring
chokes of enlightenment dancing in the smoky haze of cottonmouth wars.
Lost treasure found again, preserved in a baggies sanctuary. The smoke
it did burn and burn, yielding havens of relaxation.

It told me that it loved its clothes. Spray paint bottles rattling
through nakedness. LIFE FOR LAND or LAND FOR LIFE. Each week a new
gown, Spanish, Ebonics, slogans of bubonic chronic. Chico waz here, but
was lost in the spectacle of overlaying strokes. Metallic rattles
hissed away, the wall was enthralled in a new tailor a week. Smiling
its emotions tickled your psyche as you wondered about that wall.

And then it told me of how they with white brushes came to take pity on
that wall. It's age worn life, to be redecorated in former grandiosity.
They stroked, and sweated the days away trying to purify the character
of a wall's thoughts. It smiled, chuckled and chortled at their
naiveness. For a wall is a wall, and its cracks shall ever grow.