When you think you are failed,

a shameful gash of a human,

misdirected, twenty years off course

and without a single storyline resembling your own

to take to your dreams, to warm a milk of recognition,

read a poem aloud to the trees.

They lean in, I swear it.

And when waters rise to your eyes

maybe your throat catches on memory

and disorientation fogs your vision,

pick up a stone, full with its permission,

and ask if it would like you to feed it the tears.

Springs of salty waters rainbowed with cares

are precious,

not to be wasted on regret.

There’s a much bigger world beyond the fears

binding you to confusion.

Cry a while with sweet words forming upon moving lips.

Walking a path others have not will wipe you out,

no need for surprise there.

It will also leave you, eventually,

soulfully

in the welcoming arms of Spirit.

And isn’t that always where you’ve wanted to be?