Pushing through

Old Wall Texture

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.

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