Your floor lined with blank papers,
broken pencils and dried pens.
Failed attempts at success on your hands
like laced gloves.
What divides your space is a wall.
A bulk of unattained freedom.
A sold curtin of bicks and steel
impenetrable by tools.
No dents or cracks flaw it,
and the distress of your mind strengthens it.
The brutality of your savage attempts to break it
leave you bruised and raw;
Open.
Your blank pages and broken pencils
all a result of this wall.
Wall made of skulls and tears
and sticks and logs and blood;
of cement and anger and joy.
Unbreakable.
Impenetrable.
Unable to be shaken by force.
It's unblinking gaze a stalemate.
Your frostbite and wires hold you down,
while children play in the street.
Nailess hands claw at the wall.
You scratch but you can't break.

 
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