Counting My Blessings

The mind wanders into the crevices,

That have the fondest of moments, Submerged below the bruises,

Scraping 'em, to bring up the good old ones.

Anxiety and Fears,

Blues and Tears.

There's plenty to dread over deadwood,

But there isn't any less to feel good.

So I keep scraping...

Counting my blessings.