It belongs to no building
It bears no art
It merely stands
amidst a battle;
one that has been fought
since it was built.
And you can see the holes
made by bullets of hatred.
The people come to heal
their wounds, bandaging them with
simple prayers.
They lean their heads against It,
in a commune of pain and
understanding.
It is hard to know
who is supporting the other.
It has crumbled and eroded,
wept tears of dust,
watched as all fell
around it.
The wall seems to know
that it will too fall,
as all things do.
But even then, in Its destruction,
It shall be a monument
of hope.
