yet surrounded by many.
The anguish of soul,
hidden within.
For so long, an orphan,
panicked for security.
A version of family remains,
yet altered and unaware.
The child-parent figure,
wearing a hat that doesn't fit.
Taking care of those whose
shoes are worn thin.
A lovely burden,
yet hard to shoulder.
What would become of us all?
In the palm of His calloused hands,
holding the balance of our lives.
Carrying the weight of our baggage,
establishing our dwellings.
Visiting the old places,
embracing our present address.
Reaching out for a resolution,
but only what is answers back.
How do we find ourselves in the place where we are?
Painfully, I watch my character develop strength.
From chapter to chapter,
Our stories unfold--one page at a time.
The Storyteller, never ceasing to read aloud...
And I am the ink--but the pen is not mine.
