The great brick wall; resurrected
As with all other things that happens; unexpected
It might just have gone up overnight
But I stand to be corrected
Sadly, sadly there isn’t a door
To which I could walk myself through this wall
Madly, madly it fills the growing silence
That rears its head like a menace
There is paint on this wall, and it’s starting to dry
The layers underneath, in striking yellow, blue, green; so bright
But someone must have thought it was time
To paint it over again, in pure stark white
There is a monk with a paintbrush crying “do not fight it, do not fight!”
Splashing paint and erasing these memories by design
No moons, nor planets nor stars can ever be so aligned
As the hearts and the world that exists in our minds
Almost Hijau 