MY FEARS
When four, I knew my soul had claustrophobia in it.
More than once it has caused me public panic fits.
Once, I declined a job located in a super high rise
for fear it would sway or rock me to an awful demise.
As cures I plan no coffin, avoid full planes, tight spaces,
roof edges and elevators with terrifying glass faces.
Often before sleep, I think the devil visits from hell.
He attempts to solidify my fears of sorrow that dwell
on my Mother’s death which is a normal eventuality
and my treasured love’s death which none can foresee.
I can bid the devil to depart back to dark fairly easily;
changing my head's channel often works as a remedy.
But I cannot grasp, shake, rationalize or compromise make
a fear that causes my angst to quake, my emotions to break.
I turn to God in constant prayer, seeking my answer there.
I ask God for His soothing and a solution He will share.
Thoughts of my challenged son’s life after I am gone
grow my despair and tears from the worry they spawn.
Who will hug him good night and then again each dawn?
Who will love him to ensure his self-value dwells on?
He will need a loving touch and acceptance to lean on.
I fear and hurt, knowing such blessings are not foregone.
I would rather be sealed in a coffin on a roof way high
than my precious one be love abandoned after I die.
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