The old wall remains,
And it’s shadow.
Hidden in the darkness is memory,
but our friends only see stones,
not the shells in the soil, or the bones,
that are buried on the hill.
It was an old house.
The enemy knocked it down and left.
They are friends now, but the trust is fragile,
To dust, those crumbling walls we’d tear them down,
and build with bullets in the mortar to remind,
of passing wrongs.
But would those walls be strong.