Saved, not safe, living
an inch from chaos, miles
from happiness.

These hands labor
building a fence
easily toppled

like false pain from
the amputed limb,
we struggle to deny it.

Sky fills with cloud,
expecting rain. Seeds fall
like missiles convinced

their futures are set
in stone, on earth beneath
their mother's bodies.

A journey embarked is
a trek towards maybe,
perhaps or possibly.

Those who survive it
will claim their destiny-

a never-ending tryst
with disaster.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Our lives are so unpredictable!!