The wall in front of her was one she built herself. It was not a real wall, ite was not a physical thing, but it was something she could not ignore. It was a wall to keep her emotions in check.
The walls, the surrround me. They seem so gigantic killing me in utmost insignificance. But yet they frighten me for a different reason. the more i sit asnd look at them, the more i think, they seem to enclose on me, getting smaller , swueezing me until i have lost my breath and simply left there to die in the void by these four walls that surroind me.
walls yellow from cigarette smoke,
peeling from humidity
of georgia.
her baby begins to cry
and she looks down at him
as if she has forgotten
he is the weight in arms.
as if she did not remember
that without him, she wouldn’t
feel so heavy.
it’s always wall. Why not something new? Bricks, stone, wood, whitewash, stucco, whatever floats your boat, or rocks it, or hurts it, or sinks it. But I should be talking about walls, not boats. I’m bad with metaphors if you hadn’t noticed. I like this site, it’s getting me to write quickly again, maybe i’ll actually do some homework instead of failing today. Eh, who am I kidding? I’m content with failing.
The wall seemed almost smaller as they brought it down. It had loomed so large for so many generations before them. Now they had the chance to not only destroy but build at the same time. Both symbolically and practically as a country re-united.
“Bam! You hit the wall, Jack. You cant keep going on like this forever.”
“What do you know,”Jack said.
“More than you think, I had a friend that was like you. Drifted through life like you do, did the things you do, thought the thing you think. And guess what? He hit the wall.”
She stared at the wall. The menacing wall that had hindered her from so many endeavors. Her government had built this wall a few years ago to prevent their citizens from going over to the other side.
The wall has completely blank. No child had drawn on it with rainbow crayons. No teenagers had scuffed it up at a party. No clumsy man had spilled beer all over it. No wife had forgotten clean it. It was just blank.
She stared at the wall. The place where their wedding photo had been. She could see the fading paint outlining the 8×10 frame. She thought he meant it when he said “till death do us part”. And he did.
The wall in my room is something so simple, yet so comforting. A blank canvas to put anything I desire onto it. I look at the walls in my life and think about how concrete they are. Not just physically, but metaphorically speaking. The walls stand for something strong and promising.
One of my wall’s was decorated with two big posters. One of all the flags from all the countries in the world. Beside it was Princess Peach from Super Mario, it had a big caption that said “You can do it!” I always took that as a warm encouraging statement to me about “I” being able to “do it” whatever “it” was. But years later I think I realized it was meant to be a statement to Mario, about being able to save her. Like this poster was meant for little boys to learn they had to save a woman. That’s kind of sad for both boys and girls…
All in all it’s just another brick in the wall. Wall street. Walgreens Harvey Walbanger. Hitting the wall. Walled out/Walled in. The ball goes over the wall. Wall paper. Wall paint. Wallace. This is a long time to write about wall — even using stream of consciousness. Wall, it’ll be over soon…bad joke.
She stares at the wall before her. It is white- vacant, blank. Unobtrusive. But underneath the paint, she makes out the cracks and the chips, the unevenness about it. She sees the hurried strokes of the painter, the occasional caught brush hair. She hears the emptiness of the wall. She laughs a hollow laugh, almost smirking at the wall. Even it was not perfect, who’s to say her? She continues to stare at the wall, almost willing the cracks on it to close.
The wall is white. It is full of paint. It looks like a wall. It’s hard. It seems that it is made of concrete. I’d paint on the wall if I could. I’d paint my family, friends, and special relationships on that wall. I’d name that wall as “wall”. We’re gonna be best friends and die together.
He hit the wall hard. Running. He looked behind him. There was nothing there. Nothing. Nothing. And then something. He clawed at the brickwork. The shadows advanced across the wasteland behind him. He turned to face them.
i hit the wall with such a great force that it took all the wind out of me. I didn’t know where it came from or how it got there. all i know is that it that it prevented me from getting somewhere.
Sometimes they block you. But you don’t have to let it. There are walls all around us, but the trick is to figure out how to get over them. Overcome them. Life is not about focusing on the walls that surround you, but it’s about figuring out ways around and over. You can do it!!
Sometimes put up walls in my own mind. walls that only i can see and break down… however those that are aware can sense that i have walls up. i am human just like everybody else. and we like clothing and that’s what those walls are.
His back was up against the wall, literally and figuratively. The rain damp brick soaked through his shirt as he pressed against the rain damp brick to peek around the corner. Two men skidded around the corner beyond headed in his direction unconcealed weapons in their hands. The alley where he stood was a dead end. He let out a slow breath and checked the clip in his gun. Empty. He leaned against the wall, his lungs burned from the run, his heart pounding in his ears, as, the footfalls of his enemies moved closer. The only way out was the hard way.
It’s come between us really. Whatever it is that started this whole piece… it’s wedging us further and further apart. it festers, it hurts. I’m not here anymore. i’m leaving. I don’t think I can handle it anymore… I don’t think I can do it.
The wall is a divider from room to room in a building or a house. I like walls because they block sound, because my little brother is really, really loud sometimes.
The painting hung on the wall. It was a forged Picasso. The wall was covered with blood. The wall was a shame for humanity. “What are you gonna do about it?” Cried the pastor. The bull turned his horns toward the wall and ran as fast as he could, his head penetrating the slate. He woke up and saw the bull in his head. And the strange bloody wall with the forged Picasso. He saw it so clearly. What could it mean?
I hit the wall. Not proverbially, although maybe, but I’m mostly talking about the gym wall that managed to chip one of my teeth when Kathy plowed into me during pickup. My mouth still tastes like paste and I’m pretty sure that she’s no longer interested in sleeping with me on Thursday night.
More than anything this wall stands as a symbol of the irreconcilable relationship between life and death. Death itself is the wall and we cannot cross over it to the other side without embracing it. Heaven or hell awaits for us!
Smooth, fluid and gently flowing, this was the key; though these words suggest a degree of tenderness, the act of riding a motorcycle in circles on a wall of death required plenty of grit to match.
More than anything this wall stands as a symbol of the irreconcilable relationship between life and death. Death itself is the wall and you cannot cross over it to the other side without embracing it. Heaven or hell awaits us!
the wall was tall and covered with ivy, years worth of ivy. it gave the impression that there was some great secret behind it leading to another dimension or even a portal.
Walls are supposed to be hindrances but in life, walls can be used in building a bridge to reach for the dreams we aspire. When walls are broken down, we can build something more than just a hindrance to us.
The wall is how the British refer to indoor climbing gyms. Whereas the climbers on this side of the pond – that being N. America – refer to it as going to the gym (since no self-respecting climber would actually go to a traditional, “real” gym) – over there it is the wall, which has a lovely foreign, if menacing tone. “Going to hit the wall tonight?” doesn’t sound exactly fun.
can’t even think. it’s like constantly running away from something that you can never escapre from. completely trapped, like there’s something right in front of you, standing in the way, not letting you past. yeah, so you can see straight through it to whatever’s on the other side, but you can never, ever reach it. And that’s the worst part.
The Berlin Wall was the first thing to spring to mind, the unfortunate thing is that I know little about it. As far as I am aware it was put up……. no I lie, I don’t know when it was put up. I remember it coming down….. oh my goodness. Fail!!!!
We can’t move it so we’ll either have to go around it or just break it down. Sometimes the destruction just isn’t worth it so it’s better to take the long way about because although it might be in your way, you might need it to be there, too. Walls are things with purpose, just like you and I have our purpose.
There are four walls in my room, all painted bright, fire-cracker red. They make the room a little dark most of the time, seeming to suck in some of the light given out by the lamp. However, they make me feel warm and impassioned. They make me feel more like a woman each time I wake up in the morning.
Walls are awesome. They listen to everything you say, without butting in. You can stare at the same wall for hours, and not feel bored. That’s what I do sometimes in boring classes. :)
The wall in front of her was one she built herself. It was not a real wall, ite was not a physical thing, but it was something she could not ignore. It was a wall to keep her emotions in check.
The walls, the surrround me. They seem so gigantic killing me in utmost insignificance. But yet they frighten me for a different reason. the more i sit asnd look at them, the more i think, they seem to enclose on me, getting smaller , swueezing me until i have lost my breath and simply left there to die in the void by these four walls that surroind me.
walls yellow from cigarette smoke,
peeling from humidity
of georgia.
her baby begins to cry
and she looks down at him
as if she has forgotten
he is the weight in arms.
as if she did not remember
that without him, she wouldn’t
feel so heavy.
it’s always wall. Why not something new? Bricks, stone, wood, whitewash, stucco, whatever floats your boat, or rocks it, or hurts it, or sinks it. But I should be talking about walls, not boats. I’m bad with metaphors if you hadn’t noticed. I like this site, it’s getting me to write quickly again, maybe i’ll actually do some homework instead of failing today. Eh, who am I kidding? I’m content with failing.
The wall seemed almost smaller as they brought it down. It had loomed so large for so many generations before them. Now they had the chance to not only destroy but build at the same time. Both symbolically and practically as a country re-united.
A wall of snow, just waiting for some violent action to release it. I knew it would be certain death, so quiet and slow was what I was aiming for.
“Bam! You hit the wall, Jack. You cant keep going on like this forever.”
“What do you know,”Jack said.
“More than you think, I had a friend that was like you. Drifted through life like you do, did the things you do, thought the thing you think. And guess what? He hit the wall.”
She stared at the wall. The menacing wall that had hindered her from so many endeavors. Her government had built this wall a few years ago to prevent their citizens from going over to the other side.
The wall has completely blank. No child had drawn on it with rainbow crayons. No teenagers had scuffed it up at a party. No clumsy man had spilled beer all over it. No wife had forgotten clean it. It was just blank.
Ouch I didn’t see it there, I was too busy running. Red bricks, brown bricks, flowers climbing up it; rather pretty actually
She stared at the wall. The place where their wedding photo had been. She could see the fading paint outlining the 8×10 frame. She thought he meant it when he said “till death do us part”. And he did.
There you can have photos. It can be colorful or not. Wall is empty until you fill it with something. Wall keeps house hold.
The wall in my room is something so simple, yet so comforting. A blank canvas to put anything I desire onto it. I look at the walls in my life and think about how concrete they are. Not just physically, but metaphorically speaking. The walls stand for something strong and promising.
One of my wall’s was decorated with two big posters. One of all the flags from all the countries in the world. Beside it was Princess Peach from Super Mario, it had a big caption that said “You can do it!” I always took that as a warm encouraging statement to me about “I” being able to “do it” whatever “it” was. But years later I think I realized it was meant to be a statement to Mario, about being able to save her. Like this poster was meant for little boys to learn they had to save a woman. That’s kind of sad for both boys and girls…
All in all it’s just another brick in the wall. Wall street. Walgreens Harvey Walbanger. Hitting the wall. Walled out/Walled in. The ball goes over the wall. Wall paper. Wall paint. Wallace. This is a long time to write about wall — even using stream of consciousness. Wall, it’ll be over soon…bad joke.
She stares at the wall before her. It is white- vacant, blank. Unobtrusive. But underneath the paint, she makes out the cracks and the chips, the unevenness about it. She sees the hurried strokes of the painter, the occasional caught brush hair. She hears the emptiness of the wall. She laughs a hollow laugh, almost smirking at the wall. Even it was not perfect, who’s to say her? She continues to stare at the wall, almost willing the cracks on it to close.
The wall is white. It is full of paint. It looks like a wall. It’s hard. It seems that it is made of concrete. I’d paint on the wall if I could. I’d paint my family, friends, and special relationships on that wall. I’d name that wall as “wall”. We’re gonna be best friends and die together.
He hit the wall hard. Running. He looked behind him. There was nothing there. Nothing. Nothing. And then something. He clawed at the brickwork. The shadows advanced across the wasteland behind him. He turned to face them.
i hit the wall with such a great force that it took all the wind out of me. I didn’t know where it came from or how it got there. all i know is that it that it prevented me from getting somewhere.
Sometimes they block you. But you don’t have to let it. There are walls all around us, but the trick is to figure out how to get over them. Overcome them. Life is not about focusing on the walls that surround you, but it’s about figuring out ways around and over. You can do it!!
Sometimes put up walls in my own mind. walls that only i can see and break down… however those that are aware can sense that i have walls up. i am human just like everybody else. and we like clothing and that’s what those walls are.
His back was up against the wall, literally and figuratively. The rain damp brick soaked through his shirt as he pressed against the rain damp brick to peek around the corner. Two men skidded around the corner beyond headed in his direction unconcealed weapons in their hands. The alley where he stood was a dead end. He let out a slow breath and checked the clip in his gun. Empty. He leaned against the wall, his lungs burned from the run, his heart pounding in his ears, as, the footfalls of his enemies moved closer. The only way out was the hard way.
Rocks upon rocks, they stood, as rounded as ever. Weighed down by moss and weeds, the wall refused to fall down.
It’s come between us really. Whatever it is that started this whole piece… it’s wedging us further and further apart. it festers, it hurts. I’m not here anymore. i’m leaving. I don’t think I can handle it anymore… I don’t think I can do it.
The wall is a divider from room to room in a building or a house. I like walls because they block sound, because my little brother is really, really loud sometimes.
The painting hung on the wall. It was a forged Picasso. The wall was covered with blood. The wall was a shame for humanity. “What are you gonna do about it?” Cried the pastor. The bull turned his horns toward the wall and ran as fast as he could, his head penetrating the slate. He woke up and saw the bull in his head. And the strange bloody wall with the forged Picasso. He saw it so clearly. What could it mean?
I hit the wall. Not proverbially, although maybe, but I’m mostly talking about the gym wall that managed to chip one of my teeth when Kathy plowed into me during pickup. My mouth still tastes like paste and I’m pretty sure that she’s no longer interested in sleeping with me on Thursday night.
More than anything this wall stands as a symbol of the irreconcilable relationship between life and death. Death itself is the wall and we cannot cross over it to the other side without embracing it. Heaven or hell awaits for us!
Smooth, fluid and gently flowing, this was the key; though these words suggest a degree of tenderness, the act of riding a motorcycle in circles on a wall of death required plenty of grit to match.
More than anything this wall stands as a symbol of the irreconcilable relationship between life and death. Death itself is the wall and you cannot cross over it to the other side without embracing it. Heaven or hell awaits us!
the wall was tall and covered with ivy, years worth of ivy. it gave the impression that there was some great secret behind it leading to another dimension or even a portal.
wall cant be a frontier beetween 2 people, beetween a nation, can be a obstacle u can cross
wounderwa
Pain is a hurdle, not a wall. So said my son as he relentlessly woke at 5:00 am, dragged himself out of bed, and trained morning after morning
Walls are supposed to be hindrances but in life, walls can be used in building a bridge to reach for the dreams we aspire. When walls are broken down, we can build something more than just a hindrance to us.
The wall is how the British refer to indoor climbing gyms. Whereas the climbers on this side of the pond – that being N. America – refer to it as going to the gym (since no self-respecting climber would actually go to a traditional, “real” gym) – over there it is the wall, which has a lovely foreign, if menacing tone. “Going to hit the wall tonight?” doesn’t sound exactly fun.
can’t even think. it’s like constantly running away from something that you can never escapre from. completely trapped, like there’s something right in front of you, standing in the way, not letting you past. yeah, so you can see straight through it to whatever’s on the other side, but you can never, ever reach it. And that’s the worst part.
The Berlin Wall was the first thing to spring to mind, the unfortunate thing is that I know little about it. As far as I am aware it was put up……. no I lie, I don’t know when it was put up. I remember it coming down….. oh my goodness. Fail!!!!
We can’t move it so we’ll either have to go around it or just break it down. Sometimes the destruction just isn’t worth it so it’s better to take the long way about because although it might be in your way, you might need it to be there, too. Walls are things with purpose, just like you and I have our purpose.
There are four walls in my room, all painted bright, fire-cracker red. They make the room a little dark most of the time, seeming to suck in some of the light given out by the lamp. However, they make me feel warm and impassioned. They make me feel more like a woman each time I wake up in the morning.
Walls are awesome. They listen to everything you say, without butting in. You can stare at the same wall for hours, and not feel bored. That’s what I do sometimes in boring classes. :)