Poems to tell the poor faithed.

Anxiety

Behold! Thy creature of light!
A gift is cursing you down!
A gift hidden from plain sight
Something deeper than a clown's frown

It's beating to an offbeat tune
Yet still brings music to the crowd
A song of smitten misfortune
Whispering out loud

"You hath no permission
To feel great or poor,
For everything's on my commission
I'm a poison with no cure

I am you, you are me
A singular creation
Devoid of glee
A singular foundation
On a 'feeling-spree'"

Creature! The heart hath spoken!
Need nothing to be afraid
For fear itself hath been smitten
By the wallowing wade

"Thy is not a blank canvas
Nor a written on one
I am an artist with a beret
who has seen it all.

And I'd always wonder
Why shoulder is used on the metaphor
'All the weight of the world is on your shoulder'
When It is the mind who has carried the burden of living

I am a slave of everything
You are my humble servant
Who obeys what I'm feeling
On the basis of relevance"

It's a curse dressed as a gift
Which we are thankful for
When opened, opens a rift
Of every doubt and bore

It is the basic of life
But life isn't basic to it
Dealing remorse and strife
On a daily skit

A soldier of comedy
But bears no laugh
And fires no gun
But hits everyone,
Everyone who is living.