Ticktock goes my life,
and I worry in syncopation,
The moments turn into hours
and the clock continues on in blissful infinity.
But I question my allotment,
as if I have any control over a period, let alone an eternity.
I rush and rant;
looking forward and then looking back while I miss this moment completely.
And the clock on the wall silently nods.
RDS (c) April 20, 2020
My malady is a breakdown of spirit
when all that is in me cries out to my God
that I am nothing more than my disability,
nothing less than my recovery.
In my relapse I cry, “Please forgive me!”,
but I know my affliction is a life sentence.
My ailment is humanity.
My convalescence comes only upon my reliance
on the physician of mercy, Jesus Christ.
poetry/photo RDS (c) 10/30/19
Anxiety is a creature
with a tail of fire
that twitches in anticipation,
feral in it’s rawness,
wild in it’s relentlessness.
It grieves the heart like a predator;
a mammal of heat
yet cold and frozen through with dread.
hungry to devour the peace of your soul,
it’s fur ruffled
by sincere concern.
And no man
can tame the beast.
Poetry and photo by RDS (c) 3/1/2020