Saturday, January 3, 2009


Around and around,
I feel like I’m going,
Over the same road
In a circle.
Not progressing,
But falling back
Into the same potholes.
Each time I go around,
The pothole gets bigger.
First it was small,
Barely a crack in the road.
I tripped only slightly,
But kept going.
The second time,
It was a little bigger,
But I didn’t notice.
Again, I slightly tripped,
But kept moving.
The third, fourth, fifth, sixth times
I didn’t notice the change of the pothole.
It got bigger,
Each time I tripped.
The next time I would walk over it,
It would be a hole,
Where my feet have tread away the dirt
From countless years of tripping over it.
Yet again, I feel as though I’ve tripped
Over the pothole.
But now it’s not so small.
I didn’t realize how big it had gotten,
Until now.
It has gotten so big,
That this time, I have fallen very hard,
And I am unable to get up.
I’m stuck in this pothole,
And I don’t know what to do.
Someone needs to rescue me.
To pull me out and brush me off.
But I’m afraid to get out.
What if I fall into it again?
Next time, if it happens,
I’m not sure I will want out.
It is easier to lay there injured,
Than to go through the pain,
Of healing the broken bones.
And next time,
It will be more painful.

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