Add a wall, in its might, before it starts begging to collide
With another one, till they both become one shapeless mass of sand,
For the use of retired hourglasses, the ones you hang upside down,
Underneath your mind,
Yet above the squashed neurons you keep in a jar.

Add 2 spoons of your soul, that will be enough to fit the sacred 20-something grams,
Half of them belonging to the body,
Half tied to the clouds,
Interchangeable.

Add words till you fill the glass you use for no apparent reason,
The glass you surround with the emptiness in your soul/heart/psyche, whatsoever.
Add words till the thesaurus feels empty and screams with depression.
Just add
one spoon
two spoons
three spoons...

You don't need the Berlin Wall,
You don't need the Wall of Jericho, either.
Not even the Wall of Death,
Because death lies subsequently in the wall.

Take it,
Take it away,
Because it takes away my skies.
Add two spoons of its shadow, though,
I might need it in the sun.