Very fickle creatures are we all,
our thoughts without consistency,
make us squirm, while standing tall.
With every rising sun,
a different frame of mind,
a different loss to grieve,
and a different truth to find.
It seems as though perspective,
is found mostly when you're down,
in the search for new horizons,
your thinking comes around,
to new and focused heights of tide,
... just to find you've run aground.
With all the many forces,
that we feel from dawn to night,
It's no wonder we're inconsistent,
with nothing much in sight.
As with any decent storm,
this too will blow away,
so, in the aftermath of that thought,
... feel free today.
Free from all your troubles,
as your life remains in motion,
just keep on pushin ' ... pushin ' harder,
while prayin ' and a ' hopin '!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love this one Barry...it has a happy ending...: -) Hugs, Dee