I'm told it's bad form to build up walls,
That every moment changes our souls,
So we should abandon what takes hold,
And embrace what lies down the road.
Yet our bones crave stability,
And our tongues thirst for home,
Tossed about in a sea of faces,
At the mercy of another's false hopes.
If we build our foundations in sand,
Then we must construct our bricks with ghostly hands,
Idle as we watch our towers reach the heavens,
And echo only silence from a love so unforgiving,
We built our futures and watched our hopes collapse,
We cursed our breath and delved into the past,
We found no security in lives long forgotten,
And lost our endless loves in infinite idealism.
I'm told that poison will seep into the wells,
So deep that divine hands are the only spell,
To capture the waters and return us to the calm seas,
Where rescue evades stability,
If we let go what pieces will fall prey to gravity,
And escape unintentional from our own depravity,
What remains caught up in our hands,
To slip through our fingers as grains of sand?
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