Dear Walls: Do They? Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Dear Walls,
The weather is ambivalent.
From raining gently,
To the Summer verdure subtly
Portrayed on the landscape, I am beguiled
And perplexed.
This is a peculiar world -
I am not obscured, they are.
They do not know our pains,
Our synthetic bliss that loiters
Around the premises of our stultified establishments.
We keep the keys, but not the locks.
Why are they like this? Heartless.
Are they really like this? Soulless.
If to fade by a corner of stoically clad pillars and headboards
Is obscured, then what is obscured for them?
To smile at pain, and discard it like the final snowflake of winter?
Eat, play, and love again, like nothing has ever happened?
I am not obscured. They are.
Do they know how to feel?
Are they brazen with their vulnerabilities?
I do not know, but one thing is for sure,
I do not wish to be one with them -
Perhaps, there is someone in hiding,
Who is waiting to be rescued in the perilous forests
Of these cold-hearted species.
Terribly yours,