My Demons

Mind consumed in toilsome thought, is a restless slave for emotion and worry.

I am pulled awake by a phantom force.

Now dashing into the dark unknown.

In this absence of light, I somehow know my course.

I run my path, as if already shown.

My heart begins to pump fire.

Legs failing to keep their pace.

I yearn for rest with a need so dire.

My lungs on the verge of breaching their case.

Figments of doubt, now entering my thought.

Distrust in myself tempts me to cease.

I then see the mirage. So stop, I do not.

Now reaching my goal, I have attained the last piece.

At the water's edge, I begin my search.

Finding only my reflection staring back.

A twisting ball of clarity forces my stomach to lurch.

Realizing I'm to blame, for the sleep I now lack.

Reviews

[Angela]

The curse of anxiety and worry, one I know well. You have crafted this poem beautifully. Speaks to those who know!