Entropy

Entropy, you told me,

is disorder, chaos,

energy lost that cannot be regained and

repackaged onto neat little shelves.

If that's true, then I wonder

how much of this talk between you an me

is just entropy, energy radiating from our mouths

in beams of light that would blind

if it weren't for this wall between us,

the air almost purple for the yearning.

No matter what we say, it seems,

the walls just keep ascending until we're left

shouting phrases made inane over brick and mortar barricades

painted profane with images of humanity

side by side with the divine.

Today I catch snatches of conversations

from the other side—your side.

"Love," the word floats across the wall

like the feather of some tropical bird.

We haven't heard that word in so long over here,

I marvel that we even remember what it means.

Perhaps it's simply case of

grass seeming more vibrant when its green is hidden

behind a red brick wall stretching to the sky.

But on those sleepless nights

when the darkness fills my lungs like water,

the possibility is a lifejacket,

pure neon-orange salvation

from the churning, burning shadows of my mind.

And on such night I can't help but imagine:

it must be beautiful, this land where love

floats like feathers on the air.

---

I am uncertain about this poem. If you have the time, constructive criticism (or any bit of feedback, really) would be wonderful.