A little brick of hate was laid, down into the dirt.
Along with words of callousness, and spite, and wrath, and hurt.
A wall was built that housed mistrust, by someone I loved dear.
It grew in strength, brick by brick, each year it grew in fear.
All I could do was sit and cry, and beg that it’d come down.
But each day mortar, stone, and hate, solidified it with the ground.
I saw the light begin to fade, as it closed against the sky.
I hung my head in deep despair, in hopelessness I cried.
Then one day a dove appeared, against the blackened grey.
It chipped the joints, and broke the bricks, and toppled them away.
It pecked, and chipped, and split the wall, stone by simple stone.
For love and peace had reached a soul, that never the soul had known.
And now a garden there exists, in place of deep despair.
No brokenness, no sadness, no signs of disrepair.
For what was once a wall they made, was used to shut me out.
Love had now transformed through healing, and brought the rampart down.
Walls are tough, man.
I’ve done my own wall making and wall breaking over the years. Erected them when I’m hurt. Angry. Resentful. Deconstructed them when I’m sorry, regretful, and desperate.
Desperate to rebuild that broken relationship from what seems the long ago burnt out embers that blow away into the breeze like little flakes of confetti.
Hardly celebratory though. No, those were sad stories.
Then there’s those relationships whose embers glow, but may never be meant to be reignited. They’re toxic. Poisonous to our soul. They deteriorate us. They hurt us to our core.
Maybe this poem could be an excuse for us to make amends in a broken relationship?