“I have no harvest
but a thorn!”
Self Pity cried to me.
But in the light
THAT holds untrue
The lessons, I can see.
The thorn I loathe
Holds pain & loss
And grows progressively
Piercing flesh
That once was safe
And marks the end for me.
Before I go
I’ll make my mark
As I have learned to do.
Reaching out
To help those lost
The many or the few.
This thorn of mine
Has given me
Both darkness and a light.
That torch I’ll hold
Til my hand folds
And heavy falls the night.
Beautiful image.