A Very Tall Fifty-Five Year Old Wall

I stare up at the height of the now lonley, very damaged, fifty-five year old wall.

Her once brightly colored bricks now faded, and weathered.

She and He made me, just a short 18 years ago. 

 

Her wall was ordained with colorful stories at first, that of magic, and fairies.

She helped me develop, and as I got older I was told more stories of truth, rather than fictitious wonders.

I was told of how She and He became a wall, once I was made.

She and He were here to protect me from the other side.

 

But as I grew older, I grew curious.

She answered all of my questions with time, and once I was four-teen, I decided it was time for me to go to the other side.

One of of her bricks cracked up a bit, as she knew I wasnt ready.

 

As she grew taller in her knowledge, and older in her age,

I'd have peeks into the other side from the cracks in Her

I can confirm the truth to her stories, and it is equally wonderous as it is scary.

 

When I was six-teen, He fell. 

His fall, accelerated due to a rain of Busch Beer and Corona, was a depressing, yet expected one.

I remember the large chunks of stone falling, hitting Her and I. 

We came out very damaged, Her more than I.

 

She was different after that, but she rose up once again a bit after.

She showed me how to go on.

She showed me that through effort, and ambition I can rise through anything the other side throws at me.

 

I stare up again, at the height of the now lonley, very damaged, but proud fifty-five year old wall.

The other side is expecting me now, but I will visit Her.

I will have to learn from Her stories, and learn from her past, but alone this time.

 

Maybe one day I will be a very tall, fifty-five year old wall...

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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