The Trip

 
On this trip that I travel,
since the Fall of '69...
makes me wonder for its purpose,
as the years go quickly by.

Childhood steps..
seemed slow to start.
Grief, fear, and tears,
would leave a permanent scar.

Blood on the road,
screams that cut deep...
A little boys tragic memories,
of what it sounds like to bleed.

The crippling legs,
this boys father would take
seemed nothing compared,
to how his heart would break.

As he watched in horror,
his family had to fight.
And now they say his little girl,
cries all day and through the night.

She cries for the one
that she will not find.
The bloody road took her Mother.
Winds of change raged that night.

The memories of that bloody road
that started out my trip,
aren't told to gain a sympathy cane,
or to justify my slips.

There is an evil in this world,
that roams to and fro.
And when its eyes find a child
no mercy will it show.

But its only by grace that I go,
and God alone knows exactly why...
some fight, some die..
some laugh, some cry..
some love, some hate..
and some suffer, while others play.

So if you find along your way,
a few that seem as though
they're weak, unsure, untamed, impure,
reaping seeds poorly sown.

Choices they make
seem to cause hate.
And they just don't fit
in the chair that you sit.

Just remember my friend,
by grace, you also go.
And their bloody road,
is one that you do not know.

Tamara