by Eleanor Goldfield

Oh to be a brick on that wall

Watch the years rise and fall

To not care about the carpe or the diem –

the lovers, haters or the lines that age them

Oh to outlive the fleeting,

to smile at the timeless with a knowing grin,

to sit atop days and weeks and months and years and lives and deaths and change

and to be immune to it all –

no sickness save weather but even harsh storms are weathered here –

summers serene likewise winters brisk air.

No lack of care, just a calm and simple stare.

No partaking in loving or aching-

the pleasure and pain that my walls and I bring –

so dictated not by ourselves but the ones inside and out –

blocked or protected, kept out or saved.

The folly and triumph of your kind so laid, on our lines and named –

as evil or good,

then misunderstood or known too well

and then broken,

an enemies token.

Then from the dust do we come up again,

a monument made, barriers placed –

and you call it new but we always knew

that we are the old, the repetitive few –

watching, not waiting, just staying, so patient.

You are the ones replaced.