I had a hammer, it could be dangerous.
If I had a hammer, I might just start knocking some walls down….framed in walls that have remained unfinished for almost ten years. When death hit, the walls were never completed. It’s an add-on room, with insulation wrappers blowing in the wind, hitting hard on hearts as the sound is a reminder.
If had a hammer, I would knock down walls, to let light in to a darkened kitchen . . .a wall that keeps the sun from shinning through. As dishes are washed, that wall lurks there, that cannot be washed away with the suds that go down the drain. Time cannot heal when there’s vivid reminders, daily.
If I had a hammer, I’d knock the wall of silence down. I’d show you not talking does not take thoughts from our minds. If the wall of silence was knocked down, kindness might prevail, depression could be more understood, different lifestyles could be accepted, two sides of the story accepted as truth as pain makes it’s separate paths and gossip would stop.
If I had a hammer, I’d knock down the wall of ignoring and show you the recovery path is not as low as the grief path, but there’s still pits and stones to stumble on . . . there’s still reminders . . . and there’s still days the sun just does not shine through from the walls of pain blocking it.
If I had a hammer, I’d wish you’d hold it with me, than taking it from me . . . to work together than demolishing the wrong walls that take so long to rebuild.
If I had a hammer, I might try fixing the walls and frames, the hurts and pains, but only God knows the intentions of hearts, and can fill the voids and heal the wounds that reinfect.
This blog post is participating with 3-Words. Words used are in bold.