Growing through the thorns; strong;
Calling out for help when the days seem long.
When it’s realized that lifes not a breeze,
That only where you go-is what one sees.
Then the hills don’t seem so steep,
The weak aren’t only the ones who weep.
Listen close with ears ready,
Not all have the choice to have a body steady.
Deaf, blind, mentally challenged; it’s touch,
Looking around with meak eyes; what does that word mean? Rough.
Whose to say your glass doesn’t shine,
Cleaned or dirty- it’s all going to be fine.
Some need to hear this,
Others it becomes a hit or miss,
If you have the ability,
Don’t put it up for humility,
You’re capable; learn,
Don’t leave the minutes to count down; to burn.
Who says you can’t; don’t give up,
The potions all stirred up in a cup;
Think of it as a little trip; magic.
Drink up; it’s imagination not tragic,
As the legs move forward; slow and in tone,
As the hands of your own have the ability to pick up that phone,
Calling for the help needed.
Keep the mouth unheated.
Know others have it hard everyday,
Know others don’t have a place to call home ; stray.
This human race keeps on going,
Make sure you’re helping the race with growing,
Growing like a weed,
Another conceives her child like a small seed.
This child may not be perfect; never,
But the eye of the parent it’s their lever.
Their lever at the end of work,
The one they go to when things don’t lurk,
Open up the head,
Put that pencil down-use pen not lead,
Write down the real things that show,
And the truth in the arrow of the bow,
Nothing revolves around one man,
All others just become a fan,
Glissening isn’t what the road leads to,
Maybe you haven’t made the realization; add it; and do,
The withholder of the treasure is you,
Go out and remember what matters; and who is who.