The Wall

So this is new, and I've never done this style before. I don't really know how this turned out 'cause I've just written it and left it at that. I'm not entirely sure why the first stanza got messed up in transit either (those ain't line breaks, that's all meant to be one thing!) but here you go nonetheless: 

Simple things

become a sin when we remember

The Wall

that stands between us.

Keeping us
apart.

Oh, to break the invisible boundary
and be with you;
See your smile,
Hear your laugh,
Know the feel of your lips,
Hands
Arms -
Should never be too much to ask.
But it is, for The Wall continues
to keep us
apart.

Spectators is all we are,
All we can be in this game.
The game that keeps us so far
And yet we can still feel so near.
How unfair this is, to torture us
But torture seems so sweet;
Pain is only short-lived,
Ignorance is bliss.
So how, then, can we fear
being kept so far
apart?

The Wall is wrong.

We are better than The Wall.
We cannot break it,
But it cannot break us.
We only ever
want you.
The Wall is insignificant -
An obstacle so small
In such a vast World
Is nothing.

Without The Wall,
We are together.
So we choose not to see it,
Choose not to let The Wall
Keep us
apart.

By Popular Demand(ish): 'Imperfect Perfection'.

Ladles and jellyspoons, I have been informed that I should share with you all, the poem what I wrote. So here 'tis:

A slow, sweet death embraces the heart

That, unfaltering, sees imperfect perfection.
Cursed from the start, it would seem;
So fall the arrows.
Doomed, then to follow until the end
With nothing but limitless affection.

Clouds cover rose-tinted skies,
The world still turning
Stars still shining -
But none shine as bright
As when your stars grace our night
Fervent desire silently burning
All for imperfect perfection.

Crowds parting for a god
Cries of worship as prayers are answered -
To treat you as such is a sin.
But such an imperfect perfection
Strips the heart of all its direction.

So begins the demise.
Youth and charm,
Humour and life
All serve to disarm
Those who succumb to your ways.
Leaving sorrow and grief in love's wake
When your presence is missed for some days.

But following grief, with your sweet return
Comes the lustful thirst of a heart
Fit to burst with adoration
At the sight of that wondrous face,
The sonorous tones of that honeyed voice
Laced with velvet, caressing our skin in dreams
Which leave our hearts to burn.
Burn for imperfect perfection.

The familiar melancholy notion
That such great love to you we cannot give,
Sets to break our hearts in time
So until reality halts our desire,
Both sense and rationality resign.

By now, we know it all too well,
To love is our design.
Through love's mortal immortality
Our lives we measure, and tell
Those we know for constant days
Of how devoutly we sing the praise
Of your imperfect perfection.