Problems

I thought to myself as I carried a load,
that I should soon part this injurious road.
Peradventure I’d leave my problems behind;
dread monoliths built of another’s design.

So I set forth to find new chapters to read,
and there the sore battles gladly to cede,
and ere long I discovered horizons that land
at salvations’ sprawling and welcoming sands.

But the wind whispered woes that deafened the years
and stirred the white sands ’til they all disappeared.
Your problems are yours and will follow you here,
assailed my hope with awakening fear.

I scarce had squared order, my future in view,
ere the voice belched this truth precisely on cue.
Unerring echoes abduct the wandering soul,
and pernicious detours give life to the whole.

And so they are with me, my friends to this day,
problems that grow in the frivolous fray.
I own them as scars carved into my own frame;
but grow from them only when I accept blame.

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