The panic that builds inside the conscience,
Like a levee that’s bursting at its cracks.
Ironic, buds from choice of brilliance,
But choice was careless now you pay its tax.
Paranoia and worry it’s henchmen,
Grief and loneliness are its closest friends.
These protrude veneers of false pride common
And stretch one’s saneness to its very ends.
It is not shame, though some think otherwise
And throughout time it’s made so many see
Their life’s destiny through different eyes
They’ll question what they are fated to be.
Don’t dwell in regret; don’t be lost in haste,
Or life will not thrive, and my words are waste.