Fences.
They sprout like weeds.
The thorny kind.
Thistles in the way.
Some so bold,
Some so bright,
They seem so vulgar in the light,
Not like flowers during the day.
The square faced
Wooden soldiers,
They besiege the neighbourhood.
Some are linked to secrets
With dark chains
Across their chests.
With barbing tongue
And mocking run
They rail against the sun.
Trapping casted shadows
And ruining all my fun.
Good poem, my friend. We have and we possess. In the process we isolate ourselves and make the neighborhood ugly. I have written a small blog entry on having but not possessing and I think you will like it. If yo type http: // immediately followed by reflectionsbyhans.blogspot.my/2017/03/having-yet-not-possessing.html you will reach the message.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a poem of feeling fenced in and of a freedom lost? ................well written