There are some who love lines
Drawn deep in sand, dragged out furrows
That make impressive barriers
Until the ocean waves swoop and swallow
Them whole, chanting all the time,'that's mine, mine.'
A lisping whisper that becomes a roar
of robes and placards stating'death to freedom'
Or is it death through freedom unbound?
There are some who love walls
That will tower tall over us all.
That will keep us locked in
Away from me, you, them and him.
We have our own little enclaves and heaven help us
If our slaves will mingle and our worlds collide thus
There will be hell to pay for the sins of the bound
And those too different dare not make a sound,
There are hidden doors somewhere but hard to find
Even more difficult for those who are blind.
There are some who love fences
And I must say, with that concept I am quite taken,
but not fences of razor strands stretching out
for miles and of the worst kind, without a doubt.
But fences of netting and these are the best
especially with a gate here and there
To allow some fingers to poke through
To the other side and contact and to see
what might be on the other side of the fence.
Netting is strong for the job, it keeps pests out
for the majority and confines the beasts
To the appropriate pastures
At the appropriate times
But still it needs to be walked
Regularly to repair breaches
to close the holes like all good husbandmen
Would do to keep the soul whole
for this day and the next.