Peaks & Valleys

On to quieter pastures
I feel soft grass calm wind
that doesn’t deceive me
or make me pretend.

I am myself here now
but tomorrow will crash
like a bolt from heavens
to numb the change at last.

To my left, right, middle
and all places in between
here now I know myself,
tomorrow I won’t be seen.

Cursed by changing tides,
an impulse beckons hide
away from all of the pain;
gone I hope it will subside.

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