Wednesday, July 28, 2010


All these strands of insecurities
Frantic glances to the left and right of me
To scared to look behind and feel
The eyes of those I left to dust
Solemn with forgiveness
What’s one more thought to bury me
Compared to the effort of struggling free
Cultivate the field where I rest
With every persecuted weed
And tread as if the world depended on
Every graying bit of shrubbery
We thought this was what they called
This stretch of Earth that claimed the right
of existence
But not life.
Satisfaction is my happiness.