The Wall


	I hold you in my hand
 	  heavy for five pounds
 	  weighty with history
 	Are you why we warred 40 furious winters
 
	You sit on a pile of old newspaper clippings
 	and junk mail I haven't thrown away yet
 	Just another brick
 	  broken in half
 	  brown Berlin stone
 	  bits of grey mortar on one side
 
 	How many hands have clutched at you
 	in the days of the Broken City
 	  clawed upon you and climbed
 	  scrambling for freedom
 	  your denial bought with blood
 
 	  Tomorrow I'll take you to the sea
 	  and bury your memories
 	  below salt-washed sand