I walk upon the hard tarmac
Of failures and hopes and doubts
It isn't a straight road
Every time I expect it to go smooth
I see the bends
and they are nearly throwing me off.
I look on the horizon
But its path is hidden from me
Yet as I recover from my precarious balance
a flower blossoming up ahead.
Patches of soil is covering the tarmac.
Beneath my feet,
the road is no longer hard
It is soft
Although the road is still winding up ahead
loosing itself in a jungle of trees,
A fragile truce has bud in me.
I am confused but I am not lost.
It is getting easier to walk the road to writing.