Crossing the Fence
They tell me the ocean is just beyond the berm,
just past the fence that marks the line between
tame and wild.
That’s what they tell me. And likely it is true, but
so much of what you have been told is false,
you will wait until you climb the earthen wall
and see it for yourself.
All the ever afters have asterisks.
Barbed wire in the fences you cross
to get there. And there is never where you imagine,
sometimes more beautiful,
sometimes flesh and heart ripping
and you have been left with nothing to show
but a interesting array of scars, stories to tell
and lessons to learn,
and you have been left with magic,
songs in your head, and the memories
of sweet touch stronger than any blood, somehow
still willing, eager to walk in the cold,
minus six, to find the fire.
About this poem.
Is it seemly for someone my age, supposedly settled, to be both content and searching? Does it even make sense? I ask myself that sometimes, even when I am in a place where I am not certain what I am seeking still. Somehow I thought I’d be wiser at this age. Lessons learned and sage.
Shows what we know. That’s why they say life is an adventure.
Dancing to J. J. Cale and sipping coffee. Time to write my sermon.