Rolling Toward the Edge

Unlimited movement, uncontrolled going.

Is this what I want?

 

I pray for a curb--

a shrub, a copse, a hedge, a stone wall,

perhaps a rise of mountains

to brake my heedless roll

toward the edge of the earth.

There is nothing between me and the horizon,

and I roll, willy-nilly, 

toward my inevitable fate.

 

I am a mason.

With strong back and leather-gloved hands

I'll pile stone on stone,

building a wall

as wide as it needs to be.

 

The horizon lies ahead.

My wall will stand between

me and its implacable beckoning.

 

Copyright 2012 Ann Tudor

www.anntudor.ca
http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com