life is a beach

Few have had a wounded soul,
I have not been warned or told,
That the blade that cuts most deep,
And seeds I did not sow, nor reap,
Should come to haunt this mind of mine,
And it forbear to show or shine,
The cut I can not heal or mend,
Came from my own closest friend.

Now this my heart of many holes,
Misshapen from a broken mold,
Is blown through by each passing breeze,
And cold and hard like old Swiss Cheese,
Two of my scars, one new, one old,
One spills out blood, one rots with mold.
The old is shallow, a great big sore,
The other deep, it hurts the more.

Who can I look at in blame?
This time it can not be my shame,
I will not put this on myself,
I did not put me on this shelf,
For all my work I could not save,
Memories now in shallow graves,
They come back often just to say,
It’s my fault that I am this way.

I know one day I will look back,
And see behind me many tracks,
And many pairs, and many friends,
Many lost to their own dead ends,
Friends to which I held on tight,
Loves comforted through the night,
They’re gone away, but not to sea,
And not to war, just far from me.

A thousand feet, a thousand trails,
A million tries, a million fails,
All being washed away by time,
So I am cleaned of stains and grime,
The tide of life wants me to drown,
And alone it might bring me down,
Because life is like a lonely beach,
But God is never far from reach.