Sometimes my soul is worn, And I find the relief nowhere. Regrets are standing like a thorn, And I can’t find the strength to bear.
Sometimes the sky of my soul is crying, I’m alone in this sea of isolation. But on hope’s anchor, I’m relying, From the sailboat, I can see the persistence constellation.
I may be a rose with thorns, Hurt by anyone who dares. But, I’m also made of love, Sculptured but someone who cares. I’m wearing the smiles given by strangers, And the wounds of my loved ones’ words.
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