This is my wailing wall...

I slip prayers into the spaces between the lines, each word a brick, laden with a lament for too many children .  There are too many children sleeping in heaven from starvation, war, the madness diseasing the thoughts of too many young men.

Our soul sickness spreads through our veins, pumps through the holes in our hearts, floats like a contagion from our sighs.  We wail and wail and wail. But, we're losing our poets, too; the minstrels of our generation slip from our world too quickly, their words  the stones engraved with our own epitaphs.  Poets, children, and angels crowd the invisible world we seek for a comfort to the pain of being left behind.

And, we wail, give these walls our prayers and tears, too many tears...