Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Blackberry Bushes

Blackberry bushes are where my thoughts hide,
I love the smell of the sweet oversized fruit,
They grew rampant on the streets where I use to walk,
and enjoyed my time at a coffee shop.

A carefree time I had when I was younger,
religion didn't matter, and if it did, I was saved,
Who doesn't God love anyway?
It didn't matter what I wore or how I cut my hair,
The only thing that mattered was love that was shared,

Bad days remind me of when it use to rain,
Seattle days were wonderful this way,
Who can shed tears on days when the sun came out,
and the blackberries were fresh and juicy,
waiting to be picked by those whom I loved.

When my troubles come near, I am reminded,
of days when I hoped that my friends would be there,
but I was alone, and God was there,
and I was okay. I am okay.

I would smoke cigarettes, and it wasn't a sin,
because God knew I did it, and He loved me the same,
and my friends and I talked and smoked,
and we thought it was okay (my worldview).

So when my siblings are busy filling up their lives,
and God reminds me that I have been there too,
and when this world starts to pass me by,
I will remember the days we spent,
picking blackberries.

No comments:

Post a Comment