He built the walls high and tight.
Their words his bricks.
His pain the mortar.
His work held for him unending comfort.
Distracting him from feeling the pain of words used as talons.
Each night he lay down in his bunker – safe.
The light of dawn trumpeting another day’s work.
Steady focus as he stood on tip toe.
Only a few more levels and bricks to go.
The last brick was laid.
Palms swept across his thighs.
The barrier was strong and the barrier was high.
He settled down to take in his work.
Reveling in the barrier he’d built.
A slow smile his handiwork produced.
It wasn’t long though before he noted with narrowed eyes,
No door or steps had he realized.
Alone in his tomb he would now stay.
Nothing but his own words to whittle him away…
Photo Credit: Luna-Lager Nazi Camp by Spudnik O Fathaigh
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