hard lessons, written down for revisions
yet everyday it seems the lessons never end
and writing seems futile
mistakes too many to note
and the chance to apply lessons learnt 
never seems to come
new mistakes, new lessons everyday 
looks like circumstances are constantly  updating themselves 
patterns too complex for me to figure the trick



thrown away my lesson books
perhaps I just need to be
to breathe
inhale the breeze
and allow myself learn to stand by falling
and rising
not by avoiding tainting my hands and shirt with mud
it's a slow process 
but slow growth is sometimes the answer
to a stable, mature life