by Willow Rose

The white unfinished wall
stands alone.
Cobwebs of past experiences;
empty wisps of memories;
fingerprints of a few
who tried to touch yet
left behind only
a surface smudge.
And the wall stands alone.

for a man with his mind
full of colours to draw
his pictures upon me,
mending the cracks
and bruises and tears;
planing out smooth
all the worries and fears–
Until the wall stands completed
and I am whole.

©Willow Rose 2011

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