The sun shines without my permission On yellow walls without lines that I've been told to live in (even God commits crimes if you take the word of the young). One day we’ll all die but not without walking For at least a few strides— I think it’s the worst thing, When they walk beside yellow lines Or walls, yellow walls is just as bad (it’s like somebody’s dad, but flat and awful wall-like in description). Piece of shit to be wall like in description. Nice though, that the windows with little crosses in them, white as clouds, Reflect the sea, for Ocean views reside beyond the walls that bother me, Holding beauteous light from the sun (without anxiety despite that energy). Tomorrow evening I’ll crouch by the concrete eating ice cream with a cousin or some friends, Knock out a conversation while the wind turns colder, while we grow an hour older by the hum of traffic going Where the traffic always goes between two yellow lines And baby yellow concrete walls, (sometimes green) Never seen without hope, never built without dreams About the sweet evening, going home Between four smaller walls with someone— Or would kids turn the tap by the metal framed basement window When the ice cream is done? They wouldn’t be quite there if it was just walls and the sky. I see fading yellow lights shining on the shallow water. God, the clouds are powerful, so many pink ones cut the sky with Horizontal stripes. Three dark ones reach down like claws, The wise man calls: Bless those who die in this war By my hand, and by my enemy’s, That they may see heaven.
