@UnkindnessOfRavens We try... because we need to... we have to. Although my body is battle weary and my soul is war worn, I have miles to go & promises to keep. 🖤
“These woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.” — Robert Frost
@UnkindnessOfRavens Oh sweetheart, if you only knew. I keep on keeping on because I’m to stupid and stubborn to give up but I’ve been broken and damaged in ways it’s hard to even talk about. I struggle with so much and my mind eats me alive every day. 🖤
@UnkindnessOfRavens We are all given gifts, I suppose. For some cowardice is their savior... for others maybe madness. I don’t like my gifts either but no give backs for them.
@UnkindnessOfRavens Most likely, my meds will eventually quit working and my “gift” will consume me but that is not today. Today I will laugh.. and play... and cry, for all tomorrows are guaranteed to none.
@DarkHeaven all you have said is so very profound and true! You give me power to continue on. I have had pain and hurt throughout my life also. I have been given gifts I did not ask for. But, we continue on in so many ways! 🤗
@UnkindnessOfRavens For both of us. Not all candles are meant to burn so long and others have such small light but all the more precious, beating against such darkness. 🖤
@UnkindnessOfRavens @Indy74 This is the poem I keep beside my bed for the worst of it. I read it at least every night and sometimes several times a day depending the day. Might it be a lifeline to each of you as is to me.
Do not go gentle into that good night
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
