“Fences keep things out.”
“Yes…but they also keep things in. It’s kind of like the glass of water…is it half full or half empty?”
“I’ve always thought of it as empty.”
Whenever I see a fence I wonder exactly what it was that motivated someone to take the time to put it there. What is so important on the other side to keep it from people? Or do you just enjoy separating yourself; making invisible lines visible.
He stood outside the fence, on his tip-toes peering over. Inside the garden he saw two children playing with stones. Inside he heard the sound of a piano.
The fences that keep us trapped. Like the walls we use to conceal ourselves from the pain and hardships of our everyday lives. We hide behind them, away from the lurking eyes of our neighbours. We hide behind them because we are so scared of the consequences if we don’t.
These things were less like hurdles and more like fences. I was confident that I could jump hurdles to get to you, but fences were just too high for me to brave.
i have built many fences in my life. ive built the one with the old boards under our back porch, the fence that splintered and barely held for a few days. i built invisible ones around my heart.
She fences like something possessed, controlling the centerline at times with what seems like pure will alone. It’s been hours and the challengers keep coming. She takes them all. None will bloody the proud flag of her glorious hair.
Good fences make good neighbors, the saying goes. I don’t believe in fences, myself. That way I can just walk on over to your house anytime I feel like it, let myself in, help myself to your beer, and feed your monkey when you’re out of the house. Or I can wait just in your bedroom for you to come home…
Fences that divide us. We hide behind them in our own little world. They are the new metaphorical walls we place between us in order to protect ourselves from the danger and the hurt of the world.
I see their fences, glistening and pure. Created of memories and hopes, dreams and wishes. Then I turn to admire yours. A dark obstruction of mangled occurences in life. It’s closed off, unlike the others, and the remnants of burned bridges scatter the front.
fences are the things that block us from ever really reaching what we desire in life. they tell you to stop. they entice your curiosity and make you wonder what blocks you from paradise. why does it block you from anything
Fences. all around me. Closing me in. Just like before. My breath came short in my chest as I cowered in the middle of the tiny, enclosed space. Grass covered the floor, a mock interpretation of a yard. Maybe it was a yard, I don’t know. The grass was real, at least.
Good fences make good neighbors, people in my hometown used to say. But I had a dog who could leap over 6 foot fences. The neighbors didn’t much like that.
I’m always on the fence. Indecisive. Constantly weighing my options, predicting possible futures. Daydreaming, really. It keeps me from making a choice. From walking away and putting my energy into someone else. Because from this fence I feel I can see all.
Fences. The ones you build around your heart. Like walls, they keep people out. However you can see past the fences, the whole world is out there. Even though you know of the possibilities, can see them, you’ve still locked yourself in.
Good fences make good neighbors. This was really true for me when I had horses and cows, as did all of my neighbors. A herd of either running down the street did not make for a good day. So keep up your fences and have a good day!
She cries and she screams, beating her fists raw against the brick barrier. She screams until her voice is breaking and the taste of iron is on her tongue; fingers bloodied and ripped as she claws at the wall, the fence built to keep her in for reasons she doesn’t know. She calls to the other side, calls out to her brother; but the only sound that is returned to her is the echo of retreating footsteps.
Like a child he climbed the old tree in his new yard and looked out across his neighborhood. Fence after fence, some needing replacement, some idyllic white picketed, some even chain linked. Divisions of land, divisions of man.
Splinters on wooden fences reach up like the tall grass that curves around the base. My mother cut her leg open on a chain link fence. My parents put up a white picket fence around our backyard when I was a child. My sister climbed a tall fence to watch the neighbors. I climbed a fence and fell into a bush. We never quite let fences keep us in, no, we sure didn’t. But I still sure like to trace the splinters that poke up out of the fence and into the sky with my fingertip.
Splinters on wooden fences reach up like the tall grass that curves around the base. My mother cut her leg open on a chain link fence. My parents put up a white picket fence around our backyard when I was a child. My sister climbed a tall fence to watch the neighbors. I climbed a fence and fell into a bush. We never quite let fences keep us in, no, we sure didn’t.
When the estate was built, it had been stipulated that the front gardens should be laid to neat, open-plan lawns. No householder had been able to resist stamping their own personality on the street by surrounding their terrritory with their individual, hotchpotch fence.
Fences are used to separate one thing from another. Whether it’s land or you’re own feelings, fences are the boundaries of what we can achieve. To break though your own fence means you’ve accomplished something big.
The fences your built around yourself, I don’t have the power to break down anymore. I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but I just want to say: Thank you for breaking my heart.
The house was surrounded by fences. Not just one that went around, but an intricate circle of fences, forever protecting the residents from the weight of the world.
Your heart is shielded by fences. Impenetrable wrought iron bars painted white to impersonate a serene picket fence. And here I stand, hand clutching a bundle of keys, trying each one at the entrance.
Fences weren’t made to keep us in
Although many seem to think it
Fences are there to separate
Those who try
From those who sit on the other side
And cry
“Fences keep things out.”
“Yes…but they also keep things in. It’s kind of like the glass of water…is it half full or half empty?”
“I’ve always thought of it as empty.”
blocks of iron no view only the trees are seen above. I would like to know what’ s in there. but the fence is too high.
Whenever I see a fence I wonder exactly what it was that motivated someone to take the time to put it there. What is so important on the other side to keep it from people? Or do you just enjoy separating yourself; making invisible lines visible.
He stood outside the fence, on his tip-toes peering over. Inside the garden he saw two children playing with stones. Inside he heard the sound of a piano.
The fences that keep us trapped. Like the walls we use to conceal ourselves from the pain and hardships of our everyday lives. We hide behind them, away from the lurking eyes of our neighbours. We hide behind them because we are so scared of the consequences if we don’t.
The fences created boundaries between the new neighbours, but they figured out a way to go around them.
These things were less like hurdles and more like fences. I was confident that I could jump hurdles to get to you, but fences were just too high for me to brave.
i have built many fences in my life. ive built the one with the old boards under our back porch, the fence that splintered and barely held for a few days. i built invisible ones around my heart.
She fences like something possessed, controlling the centerline at times with what seems like pure will alone. It’s been hours and the challengers keep coming. She takes them all. None will bloody the proud flag of her glorious hair.
Good fences make good neighbors, the saying goes. I don’t believe in fences, myself. That way I can just walk on over to your house anytime I feel like it, let myself in, help myself to your beer, and feed your monkey when you’re out of the house. Or I can wait just in your bedroom for you to come home…
Fences that divide us. We hide behind them in our own little world. They are the new metaphorical walls we place between us in order to protect ourselves from the danger and the hurt of the world.
I see their fences, glistening and pure. Created of memories and hopes, dreams and wishes. Then I turn to admire yours. A dark obstruction of mangled occurences in life. It’s closed off, unlike the others, and the remnants of burned bridges scatter the front.
fences are the things that block us from ever really reaching what we desire in life. they tell you to stop. they entice your curiosity and make you wonder what blocks you from paradise. why does it block you from anything
Fences. all around me. Closing me in. Just like before. My breath came short in my chest as I cowered in the middle of the tiny, enclosed space. Grass covered the floor, a mock interpretation of a yard. Maybe it was a yard, I don’t know. The grass was real, at least.
Good fences make good neighbors, people in my hometown used to say. But I had a dog who could leap over 6 foot fences. The neighbors didn’t much like that.
I’m always on the fence. Indecisive. Constantly weighing my options, predicting possible futures. Daydreaming, really. It keeps me from making a choice. From walking away and putting my energy into someone else. Because from this fence I feel I can see all.
around the garden there was a pink fence. This kept the dog (Mrs) from escaping. However she still managed to scare the neighbors with her howling.
Fences. The ones you build around your heart. Like walls, they keep people out. However you can see past the fences, the whole world is out there. Even though you know of the possibilities, can see them, you’ve still locked yourself in.
Good fences make good neighbors. This was really true for me when I had horses and cows, as did all of my neighbors. A herd of either running down the street did not make for a good day. So keep up your fences and have a good day!
She cries and she screams, beating her fists raw against the brick barrier. She screams until her voice is breaking and the taste of iron is on her tongue; fingers bloodied and ripped as she claws at the wall, the fence built to keep her in for reasons she doesn’t know. She calls to the other side, calls out to her brother; but the only sound that is returned to her is the echo of retreating footsteps.
Like a child he climbed the old tree in his new yard and looked out across his neighborhood. Fence after fence, some needing replacement, some idyllic white picketed, some even chain linked. Divisions of land, divisions of man.
The fences were what was separating them. They seemed to be everywhere, just as the flies on their food. Only that the flies were easy to get rid of.
The white picket fences gleamed in the morning sunlight. I jogged past, blowing my bangs off my forehead. God, I thought, I hate suburbia.
Splinters on wooden fences reach up like the tall grass that curves around the base. My mother cut her leg open on a chain link fence. My parents put up a white picket fence around our backyard when I was a child. My sister climbed a tall fence to watch the neighbors. I climbed a fence and fell into a bush. We never quite let fences keep us in, no, we sure didn’t. But I still sure like to trace the splinters that poke up out of the fence and into the sky with my fingertip.
Splinters on wooden fences reach up like the tall grass that curves around the base. My mother cut her leg open on a chain link fence. My parents put up a white picket fence around our backyard when I was a child. My sister climbed a tall fence to watch the neighbors. I climbed a fence and fell into a bush. We never quite let fences keep us in, no, we sure didn’t.
When the estate was built, it had been stipulated that the front gardens should be laid to neat, open-plan lawns. No householder had been able to resist stamping their own personality on the street by surrounding their terrritory with their individual, hotchpotch fence.
wood, houses places a border where not to go climb over dogs sticks, tall, short, thick, red,
wood, houses places a border where not to go climb over dogs sticks, tall, short, thick, red,
You leaped across to capture my heart. I burrowed under to escape. Your last defense kept me in. I surrender.
Like a young boy filled with anticipation, I climbed the fence separating my life and hers.
I have always wanted to cross over the fences that lead to the places I’ve never been before. One day I will.
Fences are used to separate one thing from another. Whether it’s land or you’re own feelings, fences are the boundaries of what we can achieve. To break though your own fence means you’ve accomplished something big.
The fences your built around yourself, I don’t have the power to break down anymore. I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but I just want to say: Thank you for breaking my heart.
Hmm….all I can think of is a big white picket fence. Or a cage. High walls, that kind of thing. Looking beyond to see what you can’t touch. Maybe.
The house was surrounded by fences. Not just one that went around, but an intricate circle of fences, forever protecting the residents from the weight of the world.
Your heart is shielded by fences. Impenetrable wrought iron bars painted white to impersonate a serene picket fence. And here I stand, hand clutching a bundle of keys, trying each one at the entrance.
The stuff around the school to stop you escaping the following RE lesson.
They say fences make good neighbors but I disagree. Fences make horrible neighbors.
Good fences make good neighbors. They are barriers that aren’t very efficient. It doesn’t stop deer or rabbits from getting in.
Fences weren’t made to keep us in
Although many seem to think it
Fences are there to separate
Those who try
From those who sit on the other side
And cry