Self
I
Am a wall.
Hard. Gray.
I was once a piece of a greater power,
Alas;
Now I stand
Lost in a forest
Decorated with graffiti from passers by.
Soft, cool moss grows about my edges,
Small creatures hide their treasures in cracks where I am worn-
But I am different
Where the other bits of rubble were torn apart in battles past;
I become buried, forgotten in time.
The art that covers me is not my own
But each bit a mark of someone who found me
Each etching, each ink blot, each paint drop....
My resting place is all bit a puzzle of the memories of others
It's a shame walls cannot speak.
