On The Fence
Never do these days cease to amaze.
For this of life; this world in which I live
Comes now dressed in crepe developing an obtuse haze.
No longer from the mountain does this soul see the clear crisp day.
Yet he only the shadows which creep in silence and the white fog
Thus forever obscuring life’s view; Obstructing my simple way.
Now this soul weeps harsh against the pillars of time.
No longer seems any sense nor reason and rhyme.
Confusion is ladled out now in portions too immense…
Too much to swallow… too much to digest –
Becoming the heartache of the last soul on the fence.
J. Allen Wilson © 5/10/2011