Though there are no easy answers
I ponder all the unjust that has
Lain before me.
And though the grain in my wood
Is not cut straight as it should be
And is knotted with bitter untrust;
Sometimes and somehow
Tenderness survives in me and
Soothes my soul.
As I tiptoe through places
I never meant to be,
I remind myself
Mistakes will not prevail
And time will always heal.
As pathetic worries feed
The cinders in my fire,
I know it's all in vain;
Destiny will continue as 'planned.'
Many doors are open wide,
But I have to stumble
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