When things are going to be hard,

On these lonely journeys,

That I go on so often,

The thoughts that have been with me,

On them; at the perilous destination.

Where the things I didn’t know,

That scared me I guess,

Happened so smoothly.

Concealed under the pretence of joy.

And I think to myself,

How is it fair that it happens so peacefully,

Because coming from the danger,

Worried and always looking back,

I can see that the past exists like a,

Black cloud; whose fumes are still noxious.

They could blind me but I’m only saved by,

The blinding light of these dragging days.



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