On any path to a new chapter
there stands a wall.
It rises from the asjes of the past
and spans the width of the dreams it pushes against.
My wall is constructed
of used liquor bottles,
broken hearts and dreams,
paperwork and reports piled up,
and shattered emotions from my loved ones.
It’s mortar is ignorance and it’s seams are tight from selfishness.
The wall stands before a promised land,
and must be broken and penetrated
to see the sun again.
But–there is a hole; a tiny one.
A chink in the vastness of it’s bounds.
It is called hope and it’s cracking of the wall
is strong and ceaseless.
I tape my hands and prepare for the fight ahead
and know that the land of dreams only takes one good punch
to make a new journey and saga begin.