Writings From The Park. With Nowhere To Go.

From under the picnic bench
I won’t fight the crows
For the precious little pieces;
scraps of chicken bones.

The pools start to shape
Here where I lay
Cause little Tommy was kicking dirt
as he ate; but just wanted to play.

Oh those merry memories
Of this place they all save
But I think of the hole in the woods
And how this won’t do for a grave.

Some Random Thoughts

Those things I said... I don't regret.. I did mean it. But that's not what this blog is about. It's about forgiveness..

I forgive you for your shallow thoughts, your selfish needs, your greed, and your hypocrisy. I am forgiving you, for being you. If I can't change those closest to me, how am I supposed to mend the world? I am coming to terms with the fact that, I will never change you.

All that I ask, is the same forgiveness in return. Along with the acknowledgement that you cannot change me.

That rock you tossed into the stream to make way for your safe crossing might be slippery, should you choose to ever return.

"I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it. " Jack Handy - SNL

Take care,

Ash