Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Never Meant To Get This Far From Shore

The page in Theodore Roosevelt's diary, the day where both his mother and wife died within hours of each other.

Short breaths, quick and sharp,
It frustrates you, but I can't slow down
My lungs exhausted, petrified,
I'm not ready to leave this town.

But time sends me forward now
And southbound I am traveling
To what I thought I knew as home,
Though that idea is unraveling.

The body I possess is suffering,
With pain behind the green eyes
Thoughts race through my young mind,
That what was new is now what dies.

A family, broken and at the end,
Or what I pray is just a phase
I look for ways to come back home,
And be in your arms, like better days.

Question of the blog:
Do you write in any type of journal or diary?

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