In Holding Pens where People Surge

they Throng to Congregate,

they Meet to Talk and Hone their Urge

to Spears of Blameful Hate.

 

In Open Lands where People Roam

they Settle to be Free,

they Meet to Talk of all that’s Known

Beneath their Fruitful Tree.

 

Where is the Line in Sand or Soul

Hard Forged between The Two

That Keeps each Half from Being Whole,

Is that Same Divide in You?

 

And if it is, how then to Shade

its Shadow into Light?

that Careless Borders Hateful Made

Diminish from Our Sight.