No road is straight and no hill is too steep We walk a crooked mile every day and climb obstacles only to be pushed back down We stumble and trip, fall and rise The fabric of our lives becomes worn and threadbare We patch and repair making sure it stays strong and sometimes even replace it in order to start again in a new place and a new time The arduous journey is never lost or forgotten It is who we are and we are destined to follow a path forward Sometimes we take a wrong turn and feel hopeless but along the way we take the silver threads from our clouds and weave them into the tapestry of our lives Their light a gleaming reminder of how far we have come
I stare at the paper The type as black as my heart Bold as my actions I see my name and your name but my eyes refuse to go further The rest is a blurred mangle of words and emotions that delivered this decree
De Jackson is hosting Monday Quadrille at D’Verse Poets and she has prompted us with the word ‘Type’ A Quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words excluding the title