There is no harmony
for us on the outside.
Only brief glimpses of that
which lies behind the wall.

It is us on the outside
who are in prison.
The soles of our feet
worn raw from toil.

We are the hungry,
The sick and the dying.
The ones kept in darkness.
behind this skyward barrier

Where endless excess
is left to rot away,
before a single grain
ever slip beyond.

Those who attempt escape
share the same fate.
It may seem merciful,
but they never return.

FREEDOM,
beyond the evergreen door,
is in the fleeting moments
before the bitter taste of
gunpowder fills the acrid air.