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by Trampled Angel Aug 17, 2020
Friendship, family /
Where to plant, I cannot guess,
these tired, wayward feet.
Where is safe and sound
in the wake of defeat?
They’ve wonder from home with me,
on a journey as inventible as long.
Now returning at last, only to find,
we no longer know how to belong.
The journey changed these wayward feet,
shaped and worn with passing time.
Broken and bruised, reformed anew,
And scarred by the road’s dirt and grime.
Where to plant these wayward feet,
when time and circumstance judge them unfit.
The puzzle has changed, all rearranged,
more than my heart cares to admit.
“You don’t belong here the way you look.
Your journey has made you wrong.
We cannot accept you the way you’ve become.
Go now, keep walking, move along.”
On the road again we travel,
as my wayward feet protest.
Leaving there, my no longer home,
still in desperate need for rest.