The Wall Poem by Paul Reed

The sun-scorched stone has stored the years
Baked-in memories, mildew-defying
Lying so serenely on borders of fields
Defining the setting out of lands;
The hands that built you long since perished
But you live on, in deadness
In weight and demarcation
Irregular and regular,
Drying out and cracking,
Unblinded by the winter sun;
Striations and strata in bonds
Layered as a hard boundary
Marking old territories
Dividing man from man
And rich from poor;
An obstacle to climb, to be overcome
A bookmark within the world's pages
Separating one from another
Telling us that this was the place.