Last night I fell asleep on the edge of civilization.  It was a high wall of brick and mortar, encompassing things beyond my comprehension. 
There they wandered, miles beneath me, roaming romantically about the wild grasses.  Their cries were few and long, reaching me and filling my mind with splendid thoughts of a life worth living.  Their trickery I wanted to fall in to, their lies I wanted to sing.  But the other side, the wall confining the lives of humans, beckoned to me.
Their words I could hear, their truths were understood.  After all, was it not man who had created this wall to begin with?  The aged bricks feet from the ground told stories of civilizations past, of men with dreams and nations with wills to lose.  The chipped red brick beneath me was from my fathers and theirs, the lies of years gone past constructed in a
mighty stop.
I stood up and stared along it, and down again either side.
"Go at it!" they screamed, coaxing me on. 
"Finish the wall!" others yelled, cheering to me.  It was my reason for being, to continue what they'd started.
On my left was a bucket of mortar, stark-white.  I stare at it in sadness.  My dreams weren't theirs, my sights couldn't grasp their conclusions.
On the far side creatures roamed, and I did want to walk with them in those exotic grasses.  So close, I could see them.  Their colors swirled to meet me, welcoming in nature.  None asked me to stop, none asked me to stay.
Last night I fell asleep on the edge of civilization.  To one side, unwelcomed but needed, feared for having free-will and loved for being in their image.  To the other I fell, unable to be with the creatures against me because of the length of fall, but I died being true.