Struggling
tunnel vision
i can't see the forest for the trees
which is the way out?
with no end in sight
i must question
which is pure?
which is lovely?
which is good?
which is holy?
and which is the nightmare?
holy, holy, holy ground,
this healing road.
where sensitivities linger
like the scent of someone,
or something
passing away.
breathing deeply now.
what i once knew
has passed away.
what will become
of what is left?
is a new me
being molded now?
the word is "crisis,"
and the word is here.
As Waters Passing By > Annaleigh's Poetry > Struggling