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 I was just musing about the last 70 years, and the next 70, I hope. In the process, I noticed a few (I use the word 'few' loosely) scars on my hands. From there, I just wandered back over all the hurtful and harmful things which had befallen me in my life, and thought about all the scars...the ones you can see, and the ones you can't. Somehow, that became a poem.
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The Storms of Life
I've felt the winds,
And braved the storms,
Not all from Nature's store.
Yet, I have lived to tell,
About the parts I care to tell.
Don't ask. I'll not tell more.
There are scars which you can see,
And others you cannot,
The past returns with each day's pain,
Taking my mind back
To places and times,
I'd rather not visit again.
Still, all the storms,
The wind and rain,
Made the man who lives today,
Who has stood and survived,
The worst that could come,
And never ran away.
Oh, I've done wrong things,
Bad choices I've made,
But then, that's a human thing.
Today there's no storm,
And the rain's falling soft,
But in the quiet I hear sirens sing.
Unseen, yet known
By their sensuous calls,
They've left me with no place called "home".
'Cause I'm only alive,
When following fate,
Wherever it drives me to roam.
Copyright 2018 by Donovan Baldwin
Dallas - Fort Worth (DFW), TX
Saturday 5/25/2013
8:25 AM
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