How do we weave destruction into poetry,
Channel anger into a wellspring of creation?
Upon entering a room,
immerse in the ambience, let feelings cascade.
A hammer, nails, and a wall marred by absence —
a canvas of assumption.
What hangs in the balance of expectation?
Do we dare to question,
to unravel the narrative of what once was?
The painting that no longer adorns,
the shards of glass swept into oblivion.
What stories did these silent witnesses hold?
What passions ignited their downfall?
Is curiosity enough to probe the echoes of rage,
or do we glance and see nothing but the surface?
A hammer, a nail, a void —
mere objects, or symbols of a deeper ache?
What relevance does it hold, if any, to you,
if you’re neither the cause nor the cure?
Yet, what binds you to this tale of ruin and repair?
Hammer, hammer on the wall,
who bears the weight of resilience,
the toughest nail of them all?
FrequencyForty 