Roots of Experience

My feet are on the ground,

Why are they?

Where did they come from?

What is keeping them going?

I cannot see what is ahead,

All I see is fog.

Why can't I see past the fog?

Looking back,

I see thick roots,

Some of them are covered in flowers,

Others are entangled in vines,

But all of them,

Stop right at my feet.

I bend down and gently touch a pink carnation,

Love and support wrap me up in a hug,

Reminding me that my family is with me,

Every step of the way.

I warily touch a thorn,

Pain threatens to pull me down forever,

But I persevere and mold that experience,

Into something that will make me kinder and stronger.

I touch a yellow daffodil,

Eternal charity and hope warms my bosom,

Gently saying that I am never alone,

That peace and joy await me beyond the end.

So I stand back up,

Head towards the fog,

With the roots growing behind my feet,

Gently pushing me,

Helping me endure and grow.