After these ends we leave accusation:
there are head-in-hand minutes of a day
and moments when we grip the driving wheel -
and all these things we generally don't say.
From these ends we leave self-accusation:
though moments might murmur, "What can I do?"
We stare through raindrops, dazzled by a glare
and wonder at regrets that run us through.
Yet rage will shake us with his cat o'nine;
the habit's deep ingrained, tantrums deny,
because we want to walk free in sunshine
and leave the past behind, be healed, be fine.
Gentle head-shake. Old mother wry-smiles me:
"It's all mixed up - wild fruit in a thorny lea."
..............................
This ends Greenclad