waking up

This is my third evening on the wall.

I do nothing but sit here, thinking; sleeping.

But a warm light blankets my face and shakes me from sadness.

Anger and morose are beyond me now,
And I don't surrender myself to senseless anger.

Seeing my legs dangling and my feet waving,
The children of destruction taunt me as they gather their arms
And march off to war,
Knowing they will put their elders six feet under.

Their militia passes by around sunset
Never giving a passing glance.

I've grown weary of this time, and I do not want to see
Another innocent bird shot out of the sky.

So, with the timing perfect, I shall fall to my death.

The fall will not kill me, for the wall is not high.

And the men shall not harm me, for I am their ally.

But in this new warring society, owned by these radicals
Who once rallied for freedom and harmony
There is no longer a chance for peace.