There are those brick walls we must conquer;
stood still amidst the red, raining debris.
There are those words without we are nothing;
three said in the mind's peripheries.
I've been a circus without a ring master,
a stage played without the lime light,
I've written words for people who will
never know, what is wrong, or what is right.
I have jaundiced lungs from all your smoke,
choked down in wisps of words.
How ironic you choose my battle field
to try and deafen what is unheard.