The Questioned Line

It’s as if there is a line,
That separates us all,
From another or you and I,
It seems to be a wall.

Is the line a barrier?
Or simply just a shield?
Does it hide the human form,
From someone else’s field?

Is the line slightly curved?
Or ever so very straight?
Can it be this questioned line,
Is some sort of gate?

A gate that leads to someplace,
Someplace yet un-tread,
A world in which you wonder,
Is life a kind of shred?

A shred of higher consciousness,
Here throughout our lives,
The wall, the barrier, the shield,
They are all a bunch of lines.