There are limits to my love
as with fences
to remind us what’s ours
and keep things out,
keep things in —
Love is a word we use
for protection, like
all things defined there’s
a start, an end, and
arguments over what
it really means.
Love with fences and not
with leashes for love
is trust, walls made to
support,
not contain —
lines more like the horizon
than lines on a map, for
there are no lines like
that, not in space.
Love, like all things but
a word, lines in a script
anyone can read but only
some can make you
believe — to say my love
is limitless is a lie
as there are no lies in love,
as there are no holes
in fences.
Categories: poetry
i love to tear down the fences –
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I like them and I don’t.
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walls made to
support,
not contain
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I really love that quote! I think that it expresses so well what love is meant to be…
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I’m so glad, thanks! Fun, playing with the construction of words, and cool how they can have multiple meanings. Glad you enjoyed and thanks for visiting! – Bill
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This is such a beautiful, simple metaphor. You capture imagery so eloquently
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Hey, so happy to hear that! I wrote this a few weeks ago and nearly forgot about it when I switched notepads, so I was glad to get it out yesterday. Sometimes when I write poems it’s like a Rubik’s cube, and it’s hard to get all the squares to line up. Maybe it appears that way if you look at it from one side…I’m hoping readers will see other sides of it too. Love is funny that way. Thanks for visiting, my friend. – Bill
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Sometimes that extra perspective is necessary to the writing process. And it will translate to however it needs to to who ever it needs to. That I have no worries about. Looking forward to reading more!
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I can read it again n again
And enjoy it with different interpretation :))
Really Nice !
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So cool! That’s what I was going for, good reader! Thank you kindly. Bill
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You welcome 🙂
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You welcome 🙂
You nailed it totally 😀
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Robert Frost’s “Mending Wall” has the lines “Good fences make good neighbors.” It is an interesting concept.
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Yes, interesting concept and fun, you can do a lot with it I think. Frost’s “After Apple Picking” is one of my favourites for this time of year. Good to look at rotting fruit on the ground and contemplate one’s existence, the sometimes-seeming pointlessness, or the nice cyclic nature to it too.
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