Early day steps were always quite faltering,
Slopes were slippery and tongues felt harsh.
Shoulders slung so low in the feeble stance,
Confidence trailed to depths of fearful loathing.
Sinking or swimming was the only singular option,
Responsible hands only rebuked with inaction.
The constancy simply engulfed internal energies,
Until with time, maturity and new vigour emerged.
Leaving behind cruel and fragmented memories,
Opportunities presented beyond previous confines.
Explanations and forgiveness, long lost in history,
Today’s demeanour is sustained with personal pride.
Strands of well-chosen words rise in a flighty karma,
Adding buoyancy and pride to the belief in oneself.
©Copyright Eileen T O’Neill 13/11/2014
Poets United Mid-Week Motif: ‘Swimming,’….