If Walls Could Talk
If Walls Could Talk
I have been part of my country for more than a century. This is the country I love, this is where I’ve grown up, it is a part of me. I am associated with a story. I have brought people together and I have told about events some of which have made history.
My structure is lofty, strong, consisting of thousands of magnificent, delicate parts. My sight is breathtaking, I am said to be beautiful. As the days and years go by, I look down on the people below, their eyes observing everything. I see how my size often intimidates them, but I still try welcoming them with my dusky smell, with the sun’s rays, a warm welcoming. My visitors are made to feel safe. There’s no need to worry, my build is strong, fitted firmly to the ground beneath me and I am going nowhere.
I hold the presence of peace and quietness. The sounds you hear are the slow footsteps and whispers of the observers as they pass through. I must be of some significance to these people, because I sense their appreciation and admiration towards me. People come to me when they wish to be alone for a while, away from the cares and burdens of life. They come to admire me, my beauty. Simple walks are taken through me, I’m like a piece of heaven to some of these strangers. They come to me with a deep or hidden purpose or perhaps no reason at all. They are drawn to me.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, I remain unchanged, yes my outward appearance, but I feel my body is slowly deteriorating with time. I’m not what I used to be. I see how the buildings around me are changing and becoming more individual and unique. They seem to be engulfing me with their high-rise sides, never-ending lines and windows which reveal their modern souls. Passers-by stand and stare in awe at their beauty, their faces display the delight in the newly formed creations. They seem to only project vertical, horizontal lines and lure their audience by flashing neon signs.
I quietly and humbly observe as these creatures
I have been part of my country for more than a century. This is the country I love, this is where I’ve grown up, it is a part of me. I am associated with a story. I have brought people together and I have told about events some of which have made history.
My structure is lofty, strong, consisting of thousands of magnificent, delicate parts. My sight is breathtaking, I am said to be beautiful. As the days and years go by, I look down on the people below, their eyes observing everything. I see how my size often intimidates them, but I still try welcoming them with my dusky smell, with the sun’s rays, a warm welcoming. My visitors are made to feel safe. There’s no need to worry, my build is strong, fitted firmly to the ground beneath me and I am going nowhere.
I hold the presence of peace and quietness. The sounds you hear are the slow footsteps and whispers of the observers as they pass through. I must be of some significance to these people, because I sense their appreciation and admiration towards me. People come to me when they wish to be alone for a while, away from the cares and burdens of life. They come to admire me, my beauty. Simple walks are taken through me, I’m like a piece of heaven to some of these strangers. They come to me with a deep or hidden purpose or perhaps no reason at all. They are drawn to me.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter, I remain unchanged, yes my outward appearance, but I feel my body is slowly deteriorating with time. I’m not what I used to be. I see how the buildings around me are changing and becoming more individual and unique. They seem to be engulfing me with their high-rise sides, never-ending lines and windows which reveal their modern souls. Passers-by stand and stare in awe at their beauty, their faces display the delight in the newly formed creations. They seem to only project vertical, horizontal lines and lure their audience by flashing neon signs.
I quietly and humbly observe as these creatures