Converted a poem I wrote this evening into this image:
What are walls made of? Brick and cement? Or
A hunger for power, A disgusted desire to
Who toils over them? Who stands on the side? Whose blood, sweat and tears?
To satisfy whose fears?
What does it take to build a wall,
and what does, to break it down, to make it fall?
Whose blood, sweat and tears then? Whose strong will? Whose call?
Walls made of insecurity,
Not for stability.
How many more?
Till no more.