This brushed steel wall is my protection.
(... is my prison.)
I stand far behind it surveying
(... pressed up against it)
the fact that it is tall, wide, strong, impenetrable.
made impotent by the fact that I do not know how to begin to
bring it down
Aaah. This is not how I want this poem to look. I spent a lot of time lining up the lines which blogger completely ignored. Still, you are the reader, even if I had had it exactly as I wanted, there's no saying you would read it as I wanted. But all the same ... bloody blogger.