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I Am the Wall (poem)

By Hurf Sheldon

I stand here
week after week
day after day
hour after hour
and on
and on
the young came to me
I stood fast while
the names on me were traced
traced by the weeping
a name discovered
found among the tears
touched by the wailing
still I stand silent
the years pass by
the once-young come again
and again
and then come not at all.
I mark the passage of lines
not the passage of time.
They think I do not live
but I whisper a warning.
I am the wall.