THE FEARFUL MAN

his negative thoughts came quickly.
his mind would not rest.
his heart beat very fast,
in the chasm of his chest.
a pernicious evil...
he did feel.
nowhere to run,
nowhere to hide,
nowhere to kneel...
in terror.
was it an error god made?
this man of malaise.
he wrung his hands,
for days and days.
self-absorbed,
angry or blue,
these thoughts would not leave.
what was he to do?
drink, killed them for a while.
then he could smile,
forget it all,
the fearful squall.
but the morrow would come,
and summon the scum
of negative thought.
he lived this way,
for the rest of his days.
self-fabricated fear,
irrationally near,
at every moment.
he finally sighed,
when his spirit died.
he denied his redemption.
it was his fate,
to wait the wait,
for the spectre to come.
it made him numb,
and carried him away.
it was his own head,
that killed him dead,
for what it was fed,
was heavy as lead.
he should have lightened his load,
so he was told.
the die was cast.
he just could't last,
with negative thoughts.
he knew he had lost.