The Graffiti Syndicate
2003 Eric C. Lind

I ran into a wall.
At first I could not climb it.
I could not break through,

So I painted my emotions all over it.
I painted with every color I could squeeze out of my cans.
Would this liquefy the wall?
Would this melt it like acid?

But I would not want this even if it were possible.
I painted more than messages, more than pictures.
I painted visions. I painted stories.
Stories and stories of wall.

Time passed and I wondered if this wall would crumble down on me.
I hoped the art critics would preserve my creation as a landmark.

So I keep painting.
I keep evoking my vision.
And like some Indian sand painting,
I wait for the wall to be swept away by the tide.

The wall isn't a wall anymore.
It's still there, but the shape is different now.
Now it's a creation.
Now it's alive.

I run my fingers across the brick and I feel every fleck of my vision.
The wall has become a mirror.
And I believe that there is no bad luck in breaking mirrors.

*Shatter*

My vision is reflected in 10,000 shards.



The vision endures.