Endless Wall

 
In a dark and dreary, desolate place,
encompassed fully by stone brick,
there were many souls who tried to live,
but the darkness was too thick.

They called this prison Endless Wall
because that’s all they ever felt.
They knew it was destroying them,
and loathed the darkness that it dealt.

One day they heard a voice outside;
it sounded muffled through the stone.
But still they understood the words
that seeped in from the unknown.

“Speak to me, my worthy friends;
those of you who think you’re small.
Have no doubt that I can hear you
from this side of Endless Wall.”

Some perked up and listened close
while putting ears to scathing stone.
They were surrounded by each other,
yet shocked to know they weren’t alone.

“Hello, out there?” One voice called out.
“You can’t be real.” Another said.
“Oh, I’m as real as real can be,
and I know, for I’ve been dead.

“My friends inside, please speak to me!
I’ll echo back philosophy!
As we confer, you will grow tough,
and slow progress will be enough.”

“You can escape that wretched place.
(It’s a just a giant tomb, you know.)
And you can break through Endless Wall
with persistence, blow by blow.

Some of the souls took on the dare
and spoke philosophy right there.
They contemplated wrong from right
and learned to kindle inner light.

When they went back to Endless Wall,
they were fresh and new and sound.
They each picked out a single brick,
and on that brick, began to pound.

It took days, or ages, but they were fierce.
They used their minds and hands.
And eventually, each soul would pierce
through Endless Wall to see new lands.

As they climbed and floundered out,
each saw completely different places,
but they all saw one another then –
and how the sun shined on their faces.

They looked for the philosopher;
the one who helped them all break free,
but all they could find together was
a modest gravestone under a tree.

The gravestone had a message
that was different for each and all,
but one thing they all agreed upon
was that it was cut from Endless Wall.

Copyright © 2018 – Adam Light

Snow

My thoughts are flakes of snow
and I am buried deep.
There’s nowhere I could go,
so once again, I will just sleep.

I heard a blizzard’s closing in
and I’m fully prepared;
I felt the frost upon my skin;
Emergency’s been long declared.

Maybe this time, I will die,
but I don’t care much for fate.
Perhaps the snow’ll pile high,
or maybe I’ll just actuate.

Painted Fire

 

I can bear the boredom,
I can pay the price,
I can perform the labor,
and I can roll the dice.

I can commit the time,
I can endure the hurt,
I can sacrifice,
and I can stay alert.

I can do a lot
to get the life I crave,
as long as I am not
required to be brave.

I can resign my life,
I can accept demise,
I can think destruction,
and I can close my eyes.

I can do a lot
to throw it all away,
but I have always dreamed
of a life that lives like play.

I am a feeble sketch,
with a penchant for desire,
sailing in the wind
towards a painted fire.