The speck that hides the plank.
We trudge on, from day to day, life grey-ochre-brown,
Heads bowed, hands clenched and tired eyes looking only down;
Taking in our stride the mud and puddles, the broken promises
And the shouting and the crying over each newly occurring crisis.
But in the end it is the small things that can break us,
The little errors, the casually unthought word in hiatus,
And the niggles, the trivia, that no-one seems to care for,
Those are the things that start each and every unplanned war.
Perhaps we should sweat the small stuff?
© 2ndwitch, 06/04/14
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