Downtrodden
My memory is hit-and-miss
It flies in and out like many
broken twigs on the forest floor
As I sit beneath a willow tree
I wonder where the divine is,
in the pattern of my life
I think He gave me the leftovers
and then washed His hands
I feel the blood of my ancestors
flow through my veins
They have no voice to guide me
I have no crystal clear thoughts
As to where my life should go now
Alone with thoughts that should not be entertained
when sitting on a ledge, those downtrodden thoughts
only last so long as the clouds are grey
When they part, blue skies shine through
I tell myself, this too shall pass…
©AnitaDawes2024
Quote of the Day… “This too shall pass…”
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