when i reach the end
of my life and look back
what will i see
which memories
will be clearest
the good? the bad
the ugly truth
that i've slogged through
more muck than flowers
been smothered more
than stopped
to breathe the roses
i still see blossoms though
stuck haphazardly
in the mud and soot
and i wonder
how many would it take
to outweigh my sins
how many to make
all that i remember
beautiful

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