Walking On Roses

It’s so easy to feel alone,

To feel like I’m in this on my own.

It’s so easy to drain my reservoir of hope,

To believe that there’s nothing that could help me cope,

With the pile of books that somehow keep increasing,

And Blank pages with no stains of ink seen.

Suddenly, it seems almost insurmountable,

Something that was in the beginning, surely possible.

The clock hands almost provoke me to respond…

But the machinations are just inviting me to despond.

So that I could just retire to my fate,

So that I could be anything but self-made.

However, I wasn’t made to waste,

I’d just been waiting, pointlessly, to be saved.

The sound of my phone rents the air,

That a moment ago was so pregnant with despair.

He said that when he met me the other day

I seemed about as odd as withered flowers in May

Something had surely dampened my spirits

And he assured me that it hadn’t gone unnoticed

I did not want to breathe a single word

What if I let out those screams that for so long had remained unheard?

Piece by piece he broke down my mountain,

He charted a path to the goals I’d once believed in.

A smile crept on my face, for the first time in forever,

When I felt like I had no one, I forgot I had a brother.

He refused to let my light dissolve into darkness

He held my soul close when I seemed to have lost it.

He shatters the threat that doubt in myself poses,

And made walking on thorns feel like walking on roses.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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