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The Wall

By Chris Bunton

I walked past the wall, my head held low.
My father made it home; no one’s there I know.

But I saw him there, a man that could be a friend;
another son, looking for someone, to bring an end.

I began to feel the tears welling; my heart broken.
They rose and began to flow, but I kept walkin.

I wanted to stop, as he frantically scanned the names,
searching for the one, lost long ago, among his friends.

It flashed in my mind, millions of families, through ages gone,
scanning papers, names and every knock on doors done.

Where is my son? Where is my friend? Where is my love?
Never seen again; just gone, to the place above.

I wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, and be near.
To help him look, for the one held dear.

But, I kept walkin, and prayin, and weepin, for him, and for us,
to be together again, in a perfect land, that is just.

Published by .

Publishing Editor for The Yard: Crime Blog.

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