Story of a life

I’ve walked the straight less traveled life

Yet I fell for crooked, zigzag, broken ‘stumbles’

Who come with broken selfs and deep cracks

Complex hurting pasts, they want to


Well, I maybe the glue that fixes

Or a balm that soothes itch or an ache

Or an ancient sweet smelling healing herb

That keeps burning and the aroma leads them to me

Truth is this herb’s love roots run deep

Gives a love so deep and treasures truly

Or maybe it did find its purpose

In being their drug, so they heal, so they forget their miserly

Or worse still

Maybe it’s also wounded, crying for help

With parts of its wailing from within

Bleeding, cracking, a hurting present that no one notices

So hence why it identifies with their pain

Beyond any healing It would ever give

It’ll need it first

It will need the nature’s light and strength to guide the blind and the weak

But first it has to commit to it’s own light

Before it can draw or lure anyone to itself

It needs to heal deep within and without

storiesitell, danzeblog

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