The Wall, a.k.a. "Why Should I Feel Trapped?"

Smacking for the thousandth time against my wall of stone,
I pause to rest a moment, and to reflect.
The sweat and blood drip from my face,
And my body is sore and covered with bruises.
Other travelers amble past, on courses different from mine,
They take time to pack picnic lunches,
To make love, and to stop and smell the flowers.
How I would love to set my face against their same sunny horizons
Instead of the cold, hard face of my stony taskmaster.
In glib tones they tell me how they envy me.
Vultures soar above my head,
And alight along the top edge of the wall.
Some call out words of encouragement,
Others tell me that I should do better.
They know that they will have their meal.
How I long to batter down this granite grayness,
To see what lies beyond
And sometimes dream of floating o'er it, or walking 'round it,
But I know that it is impossible.
At least I can say that I have no regrets,
For I am truly doing the best I can.
--  April 21, 1992 copyright © 1992, 2005

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