Ideas come in flashes,
Bursts of lightning from a bewildering storm of thoughts.
Opinions come in bricks and mortar,
Laying down more and more over time.
Ideas are temporary, fleeting glimpses of clarity,
Washing away as easily as waves
retreating into a sea of lost reflections.
 
Opinions are durable,
Every new brick of fact or thought laid down,
Creating a foundation of a house we build around ourselves.
Each new brick, a new piece of evidence to prove the opinion’s credibility.
Each new brick building a higher wall, obstructing our view of opposing information.
We are trapped inside the walls we construct,
Unknowingly waiting for the day that someone breaks down the door,
to save us from our own stubbornness.
 
As modern youth we fog our goggles,
Through breath we wasted on propagating our ideals.
Unable to see clearly,
We mist over deliberation and common sense.
 
To save ourselves the pain of realizing our misguided assumptions,
We bolt the turning knob filled with imminent opposition.
With fasteners of resentment we face the hand that means to help us,
Shutting our eyes to the light of perspective,
Cementing our feet into the floor of our temple.
 
In school I see the reluctance spread like blood through water,
Friends and peers consumed by propaganda and media.
Too afraid of judgement and social exile and the loneliness of a stray opinion.
 
We take our brick and mortar and build ourselves a house,
Locking ourselves in and drawing the shades.
Denying new light and ideas.
Concealed behind our mental barriers, we become single minded.
A generation of ill informed adolescents.
We mold the bricks from the most stylish clay, not questioning its strength,
Ignoring the lesser clay, ugly on the exterior, but sound on the inside.
 

Social media turns budding teens into programed zombies.
Teaching us to take little pixels as absolute truths,
Making us forget to question or think for ourselves,
Those brave enough to venture away from normality are met with hostility.
 
From the security of a fashionable temple, the prisoner throws rocks at the stronger tower,
Looking for the smallest of cracks or weakness,
All the while struggling to find extra clay to fill their deeping flaws in the walls.
Both towers exchanging heated blows,
Neither party acknowledging the happy soul who has built columns instead of walls.
Pearly white marble, towering over head, holding up the products of the mind,
Unscathed by the war between the two towers looking on with bewildered curiosity,
Taking in both forts, their blemishes and beauty alike.
Through the opening between the columns of thoughts, we glimpse the middle ground,
Littered with bits and pieces of both towers,
Style and simplicity met after the cease fire.
 

From the peace of the pillars, the lone spirit looks onto the steel doors on the towers,
The only way in or out, fastened shut by hatred and frustration.
Inside lies a wounded heap, lonely in their own sorrows of battle.
One turn of the handle away from freedom.
One step away from leaving behind hate,
Abandoning frustration and narrow mindedness.
One swift move to regain humanity and kindness,
One mindful move to realize the intelligence and flares of ideas,
One mighty swing of a hammer against walls to instead build columns.
 
We need to see the light.