Walls
I've seen this wall before,and likely will again.
But each time it seems so new,
different.
Perhaps taller, wider;
but nonetheless a wall.
For what purpose was it sent?
Perchance I crossed a line?
None can tell from its unchanging gaze,
at least, certainly not I.
I place my hand upon it.
Against it.
It is not cold as one expects,
not indifferent, but in not being so
seems all the more, imposing.
I search time and again
different azimuths and paths
to return to this point,
a wall proximal to my desire.
Am I kept out?
Or in?
I never ask. It never tells.
I will depart this point,
and inevitably return.
I have a certain fondness
for walls.
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