My Wall.
I listen to people drone on and I find more often than not that I hear them as though I'm under water.
I've lived my whole life thus far with the notion that if I build a stable fortress around myself with people who trust and love me for all that I've done then when my time came I would be safe and nurtured, calmed and reassured. Over the years I've accumulated my bricks and I've placed them where they would be the strongest. I wouldn't put the weak ones near the water to be eroded. Nor the strong by the garden to serve little purpose. I used many as an experiment and corrupted them only to fix them so they would have thicker skin for me. I was hurtful at times and kind at others. I was good to them. But people are strange creatures, and I forgot that they forget, anger, lust for more than they can have, they have greed and pride and when all is said and done, they are within themselves. Within a fortress that they've built, just as I thought I had.
Now upon looking at it I realize my mistake. They were never my wall, I was theirs. They are the moss that grows on me, through my cracks. They make me feel strength not because they hid me but because I was able to hold their weight. I protected them, destroyed them, loved them and hated them and they used me as a place to grow. A stable ground to build themselves upon. Now they are crumbling me. They do not owe me respect, assistance, or adoration. They are a fungus, and fungus doesn't have to do anything. But when I am just a heap on the floor they will remember me, and how I allowed them to grow passed the shade of the trees, to feel the sun and the rain where they would otherwise be too small. And when they see that my spirit is gone and all that's left is what they built alone they will struggle to rebuild me, they will miss me. But just as we recall our youth with a fondness that cannot be duplicated for either lack of innocence or the burden of time, it has passed and can never be again. So before you cross the point of no return, I ask ...Will you not miss the sun on your face?
I've lived my whole life thus far with the notion that if I build a stable fortress around myself with people who trust and love me for all that I've done then when my time came I would be safe and nurtured, calmed and reassured. Over the years I've accumulated my bricks and I've placed them where they would be the strongest. I wouldn't put the weak ones near the water to be eroded. Nor the strong by the garden to serve little purpose. I used many as an experiment and corrupted them only to fix them so they would have thicker skin for me. I was hurtful at times and kind at others. I was good to them. But people are strange creatures, and I forgot that they forget, anger, lust for more than they can have, they have greed and pride and when all is said and done, they are within themselves. Within a fortress that they've built, just as I thought I had.
Now upon looking at it I realize my mistake. They were never my wall, I was theirs. They are the moss that grows on me, through my cracks. They make me feel strength not because they hid me but because I was able to hold their weight. I protected them, destroyed them, loved them and hated them and they used me as a place to grow. A stable ground to build themselves upon. Now they are crumbling me. They do not owe me respect, assistance, or adoration. They are a fungus, and fungus doesn't have to do anything. But when I am just a heap on the floor they will remember me, and how I allowed them to grow passed the shade of the trees, to feel the sun and the rain where they would otherwise be too small. And when they see that my spirit is gone and all that's left is what they built alone they will struggle to rebuild me, they will miss me. But just as we recall our youth with a fondness that cannot be duplicated for either lack of innocence or the burden of time, it has passed and can never be again. So before you cross the point of no return, I ask ...Will you not miss the sun on your face?