• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 05

Washing the Walls

Your hand, against glass,
A leaf in the snow,
The wind on the grass,
A thumb in the dough...
A pestle on grain,
A nail in a tyre,
A pill to the pain,
A bird on a wire...
An actor on stage,
A shoe in the mud,
A word on a page,
A dam to a flood...
The glass to the hand,
The snow to the leaf,
You question, demand—
Then, you steal like a thief.
The grass yields the breeze
Like the dough bears the thumb.
The cook isn't pleased
Till the pestle is done.
The tyre is flat,
And the pain creates age,
The bird fled the cat
And the crew left the stage.
The mud made some tracks,
The words were repeated,
The rains, they came back.
your purpose...defeated.


Washing the Walls

You left a big dent;
But here's my confession—
Wherever you went,
You left an impression.