Updraft
"I am not perfect," speaks my conscience to my mind's eye
"I know that," is the short, curt and simply said reply
My spirit agrees as does my body, slouched now as one
I have a quick temper, speak abruptly, for this I am shunned
Mistakes said in haste, poor judgements run amok
best laid plans splayed with dodgy decisions have sunk
my life in ruins, wearily I gaze about my rubbled walls
In piquant pain recall laughter still within these very halls
But time has passed, in mournful strides moved on, no turning
back, only one future open line - a silver streak of yearning
to make it right somehow, my pulse races at the thought!
Hope raises its phoenix wings, in the updraft I am caught
~ * ~
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