General Discussion

“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.