Words scrawled on the wall erode by magic,
as it eats away at the paint, renders
the writer’s message in tragic
lines that blur, but don’t fade as the number
of viewers rises to include a young
man, illiterate, who sees only lines,
takes away no meaning nor does his young
son who’s tugging his hand, pulling out of line,
not interested at this time in words
written by adults on stone walls, left for
people who don’t have adventures; forwards,
he wants to go where there’s just canvas for
life to paint fantastic landscapes, simple
pleasures or destinies without ripples.
~ ~ ~
Inspired by Poetry 101’s prompt graffiti.