From the Top of the Hill

Mothers and daughters will always find a way to disagree, then turn it into more.

Criticism,
Critical condition,
Negativity,
Negativism.

Lotharious claws scrape into my eyes,
Across my face, through my place,
Into my inner core of spirit.

Oops!
Slipped into an accidental
Emotional
Pot hole in the road of life.

Mother and I disagreed.
I left the room, in deed.
Then returned to tears and hugs.

Emotions burst out sometimes.
They have to,
Like flowers need the rain.

Somehow it's the same,
Fertilizing process,
Perhaps, eventually cathartic.

"SIGH"

Then, run away.
Feel the ease
Of the breeze,
While rushing to the hark
Of White Rock Lake Park,
Driving my own
Home on the range.

Overlooking the city,
Downtown skyline,
Chop across the water,
Winter warm shine,
I burst from my car.

Letting my previous anger,
Like blood
Boiling over,
Flowing like lava,
Past the rocks at my feet
To a generic town
Of roads taken,
And not taken.

All I can do now is stand.
Forward is God's pleasure.