Everyday of our lives we build a wall,
from the insular mortar of daily bricks.
Weeks are columns and months rows.
The years we measure by how ‘thick’.
This living monument springs up tall;
Each brick may be level and straight.
Gravity eventually topples them all.
The space between is how we hate.
The dense barrier contains a margin.
A desired void between us and them.
This matrix fortifies our internal light;
but it shines our compassion dim.