Stone Walls

Half my life is spent building walls.
The other half I spend tearing walls apart.
There’s an art to picking stone, an art to laying it
Just so the slant is beauty to the eye,
Reflects the softest water and the strength of light.
Then you find it draws a line where
You don’t want the line to be.
Sometimes it can’t be moved, at least not by me….
Something about a wall offends the heart.
It always walls something in or something out.
I’ve never figured out why Heaven has a gate,
For a gate makes no sense without high walls.
I like to think of Heaven as an endless meadow,
Without high walls or sharp barbed wire.
True love should welcome all. 
What’s mine is yours…. nothing to protect or defend.
Now there’s beauty as I reflect on that.


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