The Fence.

There’s a man at the fence

His stare: unbroken, intense.

And he stares at my soul

With vigour; intent.

A gatekeeper, perhaps

Or a mad man, a trap?

And he beckons me closely,

My shoulder he taps.

Unspoken the man

Tells a tale, a story

And the man at the fence

Recites his words oh so slowly.

His words echo through

The soul stood before him,

And the story resounds,

As though the man knows

All about him.

And the man at the fence

Regales secrets and whispers,

And the soul stood before him

Panics, and whimpers.

And the man at the fence affords

A choice to the soul.

Come over to this side,

Back you won’t go.

I can offer you all

That your heart does desire,

I can offer you passion, excitement,

And fire.

And the soul, like a rope

In ol’ tug o’ war

Cannot work out what

It wants anymore.

He turns from the man,

And he covers his ears,

And blocks out the things

That the man wants him to hear.

He covers his eyes,

Deaf and blind

Is the soul to the man

Who is now further behind.

And the soul runs faster

And farther until

He stops in his tracks

Icy. And still…

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