“A hole in a withered wall”
This wall has a history; in every stone, in every chunk of mortar and gravel, he remembers and awakens memories.
He is the bark of a tree, protecting inner vessels against rains and winds, frosts and droughts.
He has many layers, every season adding up its own peel to the previous, tender at first, growing harder.
It is the wall that surrounds and protects your heart
This sacred cathedral that dwells into your body and gives you light
It is built on a hill; from one side there’s a cliff, the ocean below licking at the grey rocky shore
From the other side, a town sprawls in an orderly manner
Limited by a river where rise a mill and by the bridge a watchtower
It would have been a town like any other
Save for its cathedral chiseled in the finest moostone
Appearing and disappearing with the tides of the moon
Pouring a white, silvery light into the rest of the city
Breaking through the darkness that cloaks buildings otherwise
Weakened but still standing
The wall prevents most of the moonlight from filtering into the town
And the dark fumes linger in and around buildings trapped by low ceilings and narrow streets
This wall stands between your body and your heart
It stands between your mind and your soul
It forbids you from loving yourself
It keeps in its rocks the history of all what happened, the hurts and the wounds that must be exposed to the air, and healed
It stands between you and effortless writing, between you and freedom, between you and happiness
It stands between you and me