My path, a poem by Tabatha

Slick wet vines leading to the garden of opportunity,

Here and there is a thorn,

Remnants of the rose bush that once grew there.

The rose bush that tore my pant legs,

Sneaking out to freedom in my youth.

I could climb the vines to the other side,

Or I could dig beneath where the twisted roots lie.

One is full of pain but worthwhile,

The other is easy but tricky to navigate.

The twisted roots are full of memories,

That drag me into their web of uncertainty,

Lies upon lies..

That have built around each other over time.

I chose the path that is harder,

One where I must be agile and quick witted,

Believe in my abilities and let the slick wet vine slip from time to time,

Because that is humility..

It means I am human.

The sun and green grass are visible,

Just beyond my reach.

My heart is young and fragile.

I must make it unbreakable and solid,

If I will survive among the rough seas?

Of the new life I have chosen.

I am reminded of the rose bush and my childhood,

Never taking the easy way out,

Pushing through whatever came my way.

Using this as motivation I get passed the first bundle of vines,

Slipping each time I doubt myself.

After forever it seems,

My face is warmed by the sun,

My body aches but my heart smiles.

What adventure awaits?

We shall see!

(C) Tabatha Goughneour, written weeks before joining the Navy

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