She thought that he was
nothing but trouble,
the way his eyes and smile
made her want to do wrong,
but he never
asked her
to do wrong,
so she just kept moving on.
She thought she’d found an answer,
between the walls of a prison cell;
that looked an awful lot
like domestic bliss
and felt an awful lot like hell.
In the light of one grey November dawn,
she was gone.
Her search for life
could take her anywhere.
Her mind only rested
in between the here and there.
Sometimes the search is for
the journey, not the place;
wind in her hair,
trouble at her back
and sun upon her face.
We all have our own ways of finding Grace.
HG – 2016
lovely post