I step out of bed each day
and collapse upon the floor.
Why I pick myself up and how
are a mystery every morning.
Like someone whispering,
"Don't give up yet. You still have hope.
And hope is the light that will guide you home."
So I keep moving, keep breathing,
keep loving, keep failing.
But I keep living.
And every morning
when I'm tired of this life,
ripped to shreds and worn to the bone,
I hear a voice that reminds me,
weary I may be,
I know that when I fall
someone will catch me,
even if it is the ground.
I thank God for my guardian angel and those who help me continue on.
