The Wall Poem by Dom Barone

Sometimes, when sleep eludes me
and slips away at every toss and turn,
I go out, and start walking.
I pass through the streets, silent at this hour.
I carry on, away from the slumbering city,
out past the streetlamps and cozy little shops
that all dot this place.
I keep walking, until the ground starts to slope away,
the valley ahead, and The Wall in between us.

I approach the guard tower, and answer the usual queries.
Name. Rank. What the hell are you here for.
They’re always uneasy, I try to never revisit one,
but they all stand down eventually.
Whether it be my superior rank, their trust in authority,
or just a chance for a little more sleep,
and to get out of the damp chill of morning
I’ll never know. Does it matter?

As I take my newly gained post,
fatigue finally sets in.
Blame it on the walk, the time,
or the familiarity of this view
and memories of better times.

It’s been years since I suffered guard duty.
The solitude of a cramped watchtower.
The hours of meaningless watching.
The nervous edge of every sound in the forest.
These all used to keep me alert,
sharp to the dangers that could be.

Now, however, they do not.
I begin to doze almost before the
guard I replaced is beyond sight.

The sleep is fitful, furtive.
Slouched against the rail,
cramps threatening all over,
I drift off, and dream again.

Curly brown hair,
a warm, beaming smile.
Fiery, passionate eyes.
A soft touch.
The feeling of being one with another.
This is where I remember her, us, me.

So long ago that most wish to forget.
Before the hatred of difference
and otherness.
Before the cruelty, both ours,
and theirs.
Practically another world ago.
Back then it was we, us, her and I.
Never have I been happier,
neither before, nor since.

Being out here could turn ruinous.
If a guard were to speak up,
questions would be raised,
even for someone of rank, as myself.
Questions that would make life harder.
Worse still, a random inspection
would not end well.
Relieving a tired guard could be called charity,
but sleeping while at post is high crime.

Even with the risk, it is worth it to me.
Without her, life is bland.
All the power, all the rewards,
all that this city could give,
I would not receive in exchange
for forgetting just a single glance,
a mile of holding hands,
a passion filled kiss,
or a single, sweet embrace.

Just remembering her
would be worth a stay in the brig,
but my purpose is twofold.
These young guards, as I used to be,
are eager to impress.
Not a deer or rabbit gets
within rifle range without their knowing.
Trained to be sharp, and observant,
and above all, vigilant.
Nothing would get past any one of them,
Which is why I choose to do my dreaming here.

Maybe some day, our “enemies” will advance.
If they test the strength of our defense
in my stretch of responsibility
they surely will gain entrance.

Caught unawares, the people will panic.
The Guard couldn't quell the invasion.
It’s why we keep the wall,
and the young men who watch it.
Maybe if we are sacked,
and lose our autonomy,
though I’ll be labeled
a traitor, a turncoat, or worse,
perhaps one day
I will live to see my lady again