The wall

The wall

When the World went South
I touched the Wall, and Gilmour played
solo in Berlin- we so admired Pink Floyd.
I went North, uplifting self in tune with the unseen

…and there was hope and I hoped to see the World,
like a bird in the cage I lived for too long and
separated from the Men and from the rest
the unspoken reality
from the splendor of emerald green meadows
in a dreary dreamlike down the hill less trodden valleys
and below my strata through all those years,
I saw bruises fading. Turning yellow. The Time Merchant
was merciless;

he took away almost everything
until  I shrank to a tiny cocoon, and

harshly, out of trembling, I faced the Wall
and applied my self-floccinaucinihilipilification.