The petrified forest its wails its tales thanks, my God I set sails. My only feats were fears None I could prevent, Emotion dents were prevalent. So what changed? I changed in me. I learned to let ditch sitting and poor tripping thoughts roll off my back and shoulders like dew drops off melon shaped pots. I called crocks just what they were and told those banshees straight-- we have no date or cause to meet again I'll not stand round like sheep in pens I'll stomp and stamp my feet again run rampant past prickled hollies and fickle follies and just breathe. and just be. So as not to let the imperfect present be impeded by perceived perfect pasts. No insistence to think fast or catch up to the future. I'll travel sun filled, familiar paths and roads I never knew Rather than those leading to a destined truth a road still open to the hope in feeling growth and not just pride in strength I grew.