Goodness

 The goodness we reap often times doesn't come from the soil where the seed is planted, but from the ground we did not even water.



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Survival isn't ours

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I A fleeting glimpse into this world, Where day wears the face of night, And night mimics the sun’s bright guise— A city’s mirage, ever shifting. But oh, this place is not my home. II Voices gather, calling me fortunate, They say to exist is a blessing. Yet I thread my thoughts like a silent song, Winding through the viper’s gut— A gift adrift, unseen, unsung. III Life dances wild in reckless grace, A rise, a fall, a dizzying pace. And in the end, Even the fiercest hearts may break— For Survival spares not even the strongest. . - Fearless Lines ©2024
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