Crushed flowers are beautiful,
not useful but certainly nice to look at
My sister affectionately called me a 'delicate little flower' one of the many times you made me break down, crushed from false accusation
until i eventually dried up
pressed myself until the pain no longer hurt.
I wondered why i had become such a fragile thing
shouldn't heartbreak build you up, a learning experience rather than reducing you to a few petals and a stem.
i feel more like a tree
green and great during the warm summer months
unaware of the freezing winter winds that will blow away all my protective leaves. barren. cold.
i hope someday i will become evergreen
beautiful, tall, luscious and full- pine or cedar or spruce
staying fragrant all year round
but for now i remain a daisy
dried, pressed and crushed between these pages, within these words.
Is there a mountain in your day for you today,
Something you have to do, or fail?
Someone difficult to meet perhaps and get along with,
Someone you see as a task, that person who just doesn't fit?
Someone no longer there, who cannot be seen or touched,
Whose absence from your day makes things a little too much?
Is life a hill for you today, a slogging upward path,
Where you'll count your steps one by one, and then take two more back?
Is it pain that saps your willingness, is it fear, embarrassment, or worry,
Makes the day ahead a little too steep to set out on in a hurry?
Or Debt, that wall of glass too sheer, too slippery for a foothold,
Hangs there like a frosted fog that chills you with a numbing cold?
Maybe today is just one more day on your solitary lonely trek
That bereavement, divorce, or just not being loved is the test?
Each day is a maze of questions, a confusion of zigzags and choices,
We all look up some mornings wishing we had easier options.
The trick is to not see the mountain, the trick is to know in your heart
What the world needs is for you to be in it, and each day is a brand new start.
Your path is the way up the mountain for you to find and to share,
The hills we climb are inside us, they don't take us to just any Where -
Success or failure doesn't matter, it's not triumph or victory or glory;
Each day that place you come to, that you are there will be your Story.
Tommy Randell 08th June 2017
The fabric of time and space is made up of God's imagination
an illusion we're all subject to before eventual Self-realisation.
The warp and woof of the universe is one of infinite existence
expressing itself as time, space and matter through persistence.