there's always trouble beginning,
how thinking chills your skin,
hours and hours of pondering,
from where to begin.
the mind saunters endlessly,
watching indifferent hues of today,
leaving promises to be fulfilled,
maybe some other faithful day.
you'll have to plant the seeds,
you'll have to bear the pain,
for what good is a desolate land,
without being washed in the rain?
each step adds on to your journey,
each step defines to be,
you'll not realize how far you've come,
prodding on steadily.
through these gaping wounds, this scarred face,
through the bruises on your hands,
the terrain where you once planted your seeds,
now the forest takes its stand.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetryshe captured all her falling tears, and turned them to poetry. . . . . . . this is the first time that my work is being brought up in the light. i hope you enjoy reading. love, anoynymousgirlnextdoor
