Saturday, June 17, 2006


More jottings from memory lane.

This one I wrote during a particularly difficult period when I was feeling like I would rather be someone else who did not have so many troubles.


I’ve traveled down so many roads
Searching for the truth,
And each new thing that I have found
Has piqued my need to know.

Sometimes I think the flowers
Are the luckiest of all.
Their simple lives are safely lived
Within the garden wall.

They do not ask, they do not care,
They do not need to know.
But then I stop and think about
The walls that fence them in.

Their garden life, I could not live.
I think I am a weed. Crabgrass, perhaps.
I love to spread my roots out in the soil.
I seek out every fertile spot
To see if I’ll grow there.


jim said...

That poem explains 'spiritual seeking', always feeling to test the time and hearts and see if there is what is needed there, one never knows till one sees for oneself. No weed are you, just a different and Unique plant seeking to flower and bear fruit, as you are and have done and continue to do.

Zareba said...

Thanks, Jim. It is so nice to be understood. I have received so much reinforcement and comprehension here in the blogosphere.