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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item.php/item_id/1269302-All-Worked-Up
Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1269302
A poem about subconscious fears.
All Worked Up

Here I sit alone, trembling in great fear,
facing another of life's tests so cruel.
I'd cry, pull my hair, shoot a spider,
But I'd look even more like a fool.

What's happened to me?; I used to be strong,
stronger than others, I might boast.
Now I cringe and squirm, pray for deliverance.
My face sickly pale, I look like a ghost.

I'm 65 years old, have seen a thing or two.
Death is staring me in the face every day.
I've fought and won battles all through the years,
but none more difficult than this one, I'll say.

It's time for some self talk and taking charge.
"Rise! Get up. You know how to stand like a man.
What's the worst that can happen in the next few minutes?
It's just an evil but needed C T. Scan!

© Copyright 2007 Iva Lilly Durham (crankee at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item.php/item_id/1269302-All-Worked-Up