The Wall

In years gone by, I have become lost. I have looked upon the blank slate for eternity. I bow my head, just enough as to where the Wall is still in view. It is concrete, decorated with blemishes of dirt that encompass its character. No window or breeze exists beyond the gust that is carried by my captors. Everything I do is in their view, everything. When I get out of the cell and into the yard that is only steel and concrete, I see yet another wall. The day’s air flies over it and comes with a breeze that teases.

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