Crumbling

If walls could talk could they speak of the howling of Sounds and prayers of souls to them. That we may be heard in this Land of unbalanced equilibrium of of our perception of Justice. We pray to our wall that the Lord hears of prayer for Justice and peace in the world. The wall begins to crumble and fights break out as the scales ⚖️ tip.

we sing to our walls and have conversations of future hopes and positivity and desperation that something or someone is listening. Is there really such thing as a Faith to pray to a wall that can bring these things? Is it better to leave people to believe in nothing at all ? Or to believe in hope, everone who ask’s receive and he who seeks find, and to he/she whom knocks it will be opened. What will be opened? I asked. Why the Word of God and the Kingdom of heaven.

Does that sort all the darkness in the world out, does it tip the scales so the balance is equal, does it stop the fighting, the wars, the imprisonment of the innocent, does it enlighten me on how to stop this crying and breaking heart and burt out soul of mine from crying?

The wall looks tired and old like me and it offers me no answers just a crumbling look and fellow gatherer of men and women who feel the same. Some walls are painted upon to give hope like in Kent a beaten woman with her tooth knocked out and a black eye with a picture of her perpetrator in a freezer, Banksy paints it. To show the history and in the paper a Mother and daughter are found murdered in a freezer. The wall true to life, it’s crumbling again and it’s cement is drying up almost to crumble down.

Do we all keep praying and talking to the wall in this hope and faith? Ahh Sing 🎶 Sing to the wall haellelujah , Hosanna, Hosanna, we praise him, Hosanna on the highest. There let’s all around the world sing 🎶 to our walls of love, hope peace, harmony, happiness, Justice for all equality around the world and maybe the wall will not crumble so and our hearts and Souls cry out in such pain.

I paint my wall in beautiful pastel colours to brighten my room up, in hope that it lifts my spirits as I suffer with a mental illness that causes me great anxiety, so having my wall is a sanctuary in my room. Some days I put posters up and some days I rip them all down and tell my wall my deepest darkest dreams. Some days days I tell it my wildest fantlies of a knight in shining armour who comes and rescues me from my four walls. He’s nothing special just a kind hearted, loving and giving man in armo to fight all the demons of the earth that surround us that we cannot see but a faith in a Lord we cannot see but know just like the kind man comes and rescues us all.

So walls in every household and walls in every Countr and walls in every church speak different languages and they speak different things about everyday life and if walls could speak then a reporter, say like for the Telegraph in England could go round and write about all these walls and what they are speaking of and to us.

like we track UFOS 🛸 in the hope we can communicate and understand what they are saying and trying to tell our walls.

I am suffering today more than others so my wall becomes my comfort blanket just for now , my nails scrape at the plaster to reveal a brickwork, is this another layer of the wall that listens, like the layers of our skin? I manage to make to make a chisel with a prrice of the brick and I scratch and I scrape in hope I let a little bit of the outside light in, the chain on my ankle in this prison has become heavy like a burden, but after hours of soul searching I kiss my wall goodnight.