Sitting on Polished Wood

Cold, hard stone, sitting on polished wood,
Once part of something greater, now easily dismissible,
I see a family grow around me,
There used to be many more though,
Children and adults alike,
Running and screaming and laughing,
Until they begin to tear me down,
It took them two years to get me away,
But I am still here, maybe I’m somewhere else too,
Sitting on someone else’s shelf,
Or maybe just tucked away,
I was beautifully decorated, graffitied prettily,
But now I am grey and small,
Now I just sit on a shelf, tucked away,
A piece of the Berlin Wall, sitting on polished wood.