Brick by brick the walls are tumbling down. Years of sweat being washed away? Voices of old that used to speak, today lie quivering - feeling weak. Pictures on mantels, walls - all framed; glistening memories of yesterdays remains. Todays all get swept under thread bare rugs. Brooms that hang on to dusty pieces - hankering against letting them go. Airport trips, and moistened feathers with trickled jewels that linger in vain. Wiped shall all be when they return with trophies and degrees of achievements gained. Jobs that consume lives already wrought, leaving tired eyes to see. With broken hearts and heavy souls they wander oblivious to others wretched pleas. Amidst each beating existence exists a trail that is intricately walked upon. And on each trail whilst juggling their own bits, they stumble into the mass of their fragile thunder thoughts. To each his own, when life shall end - not a soul knows of its own destined terrain. Tirelessly they walk, some even fighting sanity's doctrine. What is right or wrong, between voices impolite is lost, and inhumanity's disease is what is left to blame. Brick by brick the walls fall down. Only a handful or two, in the end still stand - tarnished, yet still perhaps able to start again.