For a decade or more,


    A wall has dominated the borealis view.


    Not of stone,


    But bricks and metal;


    A landmark to a house of follies.


    Home to two-score flock of pigeons,


    Who wheel and roost,


    Dance, breed and roost again.


    A more than grand substitute for the


    cliffs their wild cousins still reside on distant isles.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Now in the morn of septembre,


    I stare across the expanse where the


    wall once lay:


    Bricks broken down,


    Steel pillars taken away.


    Instead lies an expanse that crosses


    road and houses,


    And continues on into the sky:


    More welcome,


    More bright,


    Than the monolith that stood before.


    To the North,


    North east and


    North West I can now gaze;


    Unhindered into the realm of firmament


    and clouds.


    And only have photographs of the


    barrier that stood before.


    Would I have the monolith back?


    I will let thee guess...