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.