As I walk

This brambled path

I pick the thorns from my limbs

Alas, there is always another sting


Some are roses

Some are thorns

Yet, once. weren’t we all

The same acorn?



Somewhere, along the line

Something happened

Was it nurture, or the Divine?


Why are we all so different -

If technically, we are all the same?

How is it we all fit into a triangle

But rarely are we squared?


If I should walk this mortal coil

A hundred years or more

I don’t think I will ever fit

Or understand this human toil


Where war mongers tread

Peacemakers only dread

The empaths heart sink -

Like lead


Light workers do their best to heal

Lords of darkness

Fail to feel


Is any of this real?

We are all ‘I’

And we will always be

Until we die


So, why?


C.K. 22

◄ Under the Mackerel Sky

Irony ►


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John Marks

Mon 11th Jul 2022 20:54

I liked the unfolding - just the occasional forced rhyme thorn/scorn, tread/dread, coil/toil are a bit clunky. I love rhetorical questions in poems and the never ending nature/nurture debate.

Time changes everything except something within us which is always surprised by change.

Thomas Hardy

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Wed 29th Jun 2022 20:48

Thank you, Stephen G, John and Stephen Atkinson for your likes and kind comments. Thanks everyone who clicked the like button. Always very much appreciated. 😌

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Stephen Gospage

Mon 27th Jun 2022 13:34

One of your best, Clare. I love the way it unfolds so perfectly.

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John Botterill

Mon 27th Jun 2022 08:59

The odds do seem to favour those who show no care for others, Clare. Fine poem!

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Stephen Atkinson

Sun 26th Jun 2022 22:19

A thought provoking piece, Clare 🌈

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