Autobiography of a Wall

I am a wall, dead and cold,
But hear me out, I've a story to be told,
Of the place I've seen for years two score.
Hear me out, before I fall to the floor.

The loving patriarch of a family of four,
Had built me with love and care galore,
I stood tall in the courtyard, through sunshine and rain,
For the family that bonded through laughter and pain.

I was the canvas for the toddlers' meaningless art,
And a love letter for the doting wife, so she could speak out her heart,
And I still bear the marks of the wet vermilion-coated palms
Of the elder son's wife who was welcomed home with open arms.

But soon I saw a sad turn of the tide,
When one day the old patriarch died,
A spate of misfortunes then found its way through,
And a feud between the siblings began to brew.

One said to the other, "To deal with you is tough,
I'm moving in next door!" And he walked out in a huff.
Thus, the boys who once used me for graffiti and child play,
Used me now to veil the hate, that was growing by the day.

The distraught, widowed mother often leans by my side,
And in my million crevices lets her tears and wails hide,
When I see what's around me - hatred and pall,
I oft thank my stars I'm made an expressionless wall.

I heard I'm going to be razed and remade,
So each brother gets his space and ends his eternal tirade,
I invoke them to rather destroy me as a whole,
If that can revive bonhomie in their lost soul.