I wrote the following poem decades ago, as a young, distraught man. It was published in The American Poetry Anthology, Vol X, No 2, circa 1990. I seldom share it with anyone, because it’s so dark and nihilistic, and I’ve since grown and matured (I hope, anyway!) and no longer feel that way. But back then, I absolutely did, for the obvious implied reasons. Either way, I thought I’d go ahead share it here, for what it’s worth:
THE WALL
by Rand Eastwood
—
we never quite recover
from our very first lover
the only one before The Wall
love started in vain
ended in pain
setting the pace for them all
each a stab to the heart
each tears us apart
we swear it won’t happen again
brick cast in fears
mortar born of tears
let the lifetime construction begin
for each trial, an error
to love becomes terror
another brick, another trowel of mortar
soon The Wall surrounds us
keeps out those around us
insanity lurks on the border…
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