I’m not a bad person; I just lost my way, Led by shadows where I meant to stray. I stumbled along with the wrong crowd’s call, Not knowing I’d trip, not meaning to fall.
I was searching for somewhere to belong, But the voices I followed led me wrong. In moments of weakness, I made my choice, Silencing reason, ignoring my voice.
But deep within, I still know who I am, Not the broken shell or the misplaced plan. I’ve learned from the dark, I’ve found the light, And I’m standing now, ready to make things right.
Mistakes don’t define me, they’re not my name; They’re echoes of lessons, not badges of shame. I’m more than my missteps, more than my past— A heart that is healing, a spirit steadfast.
So judge me not by where I’ve been, But see where I’m going, what lies within. For I’m not a bad person, I just lost my way, And I’m finding myself with each new day.
Our past doesn’t have to be our prison, The chains of yesterday can break. Mistakes and scars that left their mark Are lessons learned, not paths to take.
Each dawn brings light, a chance to start, To leave the shadows cast behind. We’re free to step beyond regret, With strength and peace in heart and mind.
The weight of guilt can fall away, No burden must we carry on. For grace renews what’s worn and weak, And faith restores what’s almost gone.
The bars that held us fade in time, As hope and love begin to grow. Our past is not our final truth— We’re more than what we used to know.
So rise with courage, bold and free, No longer bound by loss or sin. Our past may shape the lives we lead, But it’s the future we begin.
An old tractor abandoned in the prairie, Left to rust where the fields grow weary. Nature claimed it in her quiet way, Her roots and vines where engines lay.
Its paint now faded, metal worn thin, With bark and trunk rooted deep within. Too stubborn to move, too proud to break, Bound by the roots no force could shake.
Once a tool for hands now still, Held in the earth’s unmoving will. A relic of toil, left as it stands— Steel and wood, held in nature’s hands.
There’s a peace that rests upon the skin, A quiet calm, where life begins, In gentle waves and soft repose, A hush that through the body flows.
It’s found in silence, soft and deep, In starry nights, in tranquil sleep, A breeze that stirs the morning air, A stillness free from weight or care.
But then there’s peace within the soul, A sacred calm that makes us whole, Not bound by sight, or touch, or sound, A grace that lifts us from the ground.
This peace transcends the fleeting day, It holds through storms that come our way, A trust that quiets every fear, A warmth that says, I’m always here.
One peace is felt, as breath drawn in, A fleeting balm on weary skin, The other, deep—a holy grace, A shelter found in Love’s embrace.
Two kinds of peace, like day and night, One seen, one hidden, yet both alight. Together they bring hearts release, The strength of flesh, the soul’s true peace.
In a quiet place, Elmira’s hills, Where Twain and Lewis rest so still, Two friends, one white, one black, we find, In the company of time entwined.
One born free, a farmer’s son, The other born where rivers run, Each path unique, yet crossing here Bound by respect, and hearts sincere.
When Twain’s kin faced a runaway’s flight, Lewis, unflinching, braved the night, Saved them both, at risk of loss, A soul undaunted, a friend embossed.
A bond grew deep through words and days, Religion, faith, and simple ways; Twain’s books inscribed with warm intent, To Lewis’ hands each page was sent.
And when Huck’s tale resumed its bend, Perhaps it was this faithful friend That brought Jim forth, not fear or shame A man, not just a shadowed name.
Years after, on New York’s street, A black man, white man, calmly greet, In Twain’s eye, no spectacle near, Only respect, undimmed, sincere.
He’d pondered race, the frail divide, How law and custom shaped its pride, In Huck’s and Wilson’s tales so bold, A truth laid bare, a fiction told.
Now here they lie, in Elmira’s fold, Two lives interred as tales retold.
Mark and John, side by side, rest In friendship’s bond, forever blessed.
Created by MarkWaldrop
Taken from an article written by Harlow Arquette Member of Strange and Curious Things, Facebook
What will it take, this fragile dream, To calm the lands, let silence gleam? Where desert sands and rivers flow, Will seeds of peace find room to grow?
Years of sorrow, voices lost, What price remains, what human cost? Borders drawn by hands long gone, Yet hearts still beat, and life goes on.
It takes the courage to forgive, A chance for all to simply live. To see beyond the lines and hate, To let compassion navigate.
It takes a strength to pause and say Let’s end the bloodshed here today. To build a world where children play, Not fearing bombs or endless fray.
The leaders’ hands, the people’s hearts, Must work as one to make new starts. With every prayer, each tear that falls, The earth cries out, a voice that calls.
What will it take? Perhaps we know: The will to stay, the strength to grow. For in the soil of pain and loss, May hope take root, and peace emboss.
So let us dream, and let us dare, To plant the seeds with endless care. For peace is more than just a cease It’s every step toward lasting peace.
I’m happy to say, as a kid I knew, A few times like this, skies wide and blue. Different hat, a dog at my side, A horse beneath me, with nowhere to hide.
The world stretched open, quiet and grand, With reins in my grip and dreams in my hand. No rush, no noise, just hoofbeats’ song, The sense of right where I belong.
I can still feel it, that gentle thrill, The peace that held the air so still. Exhilaration, pure and light, A memory etched in morning light.
Different times, but the feeling remains Freedom’s whisper across open plains. Just a kid, yet knowing this bliss, I’m happy to say, I’ve known times like this.
