Weak – a cooking pot and twisted tales

If I was an arrow, what would I hit?
Would I kill the beast or fall short
Would the string be pulled to guide me straight?
Or would I break in the fall?

If I was a tree where would I stand?
My supports the ground, yet it’s all just sand
My roots grow down to try and keep
Me from falling, into the deep

If I was a song, would I be sung, If I was a story would I be read?
If I follow the line the world chose for me, would I be truly safe and free?
Or when I have my dying breath, would all I trust be for nought

On this earth, I now stand
My path I must choose
The guide I pick will either lead me home
Or torment me when I’m in the deep

If I was a rose, would I be proud
My colours glowing my petals open
Or would I whither and fade away
To join the litter on the ground.
If I was a cloud,
where would I go
would I cause rain, cause the snow
Or in the pushing winds float far away
Until at last I fade

By myself I am weak,
I have no strength inside of me
Its strength in the Lord keeps me going
He’s my bowman, he’s my roots
If I was a rose, I’d chose to open
Displaying his colours for the world to see.

Poetry credit: James Patmore

The two young men laughed and made fun of the strange lady in her colourful mismatched clothes. They were the town’s bullies, who preyed on those that they perceived as weak.

They called her mean names, shoved her around and they tried to frighten her into parting with any possible money that she had.

No one knew who she was. She was a drifter to these parts, but she knew people like them. She knew such boys whose idea of fun was to make others miserable and she had dealt with them in times past.

What they failed to understand was that beneath what their eyes could see, the bag ladies oddities ran far deeper than their imagination.

As she wheeled slowly towards the edge of town, Blaze and Basil grew impatient and decided to rough her up.

In a flash, she turned on them, chanting loudly as her eyes flashed vibrant neon colours. She turned them into two colourful, mellow cows with ear tags that read peace and love.

Till today, the citizens of Not-To-Be-Cowed town marvel at the strange appearance of the beautiful cows with the name tags, but they don’t miss the ruffians.

Inlinkz

In response to the FFAW photo prompt above. Thank you, S.Writings for the picture and Priceless Joy for this enchanting story platform.