My Strong Tower

Panic’s on the prowl and I’m about to cower; surely my sanctuary is a strong tower! There ample assurance abides to meet my need; there relief returns, from dysfunction I am freed. Though maladies may threaten still I rest therein; healing takes place and restoration can begin. Like a landmark lighthouse, beacons define my path while I probe for pointers preventing panic’s wrath. To say my sanctuary is a place of rest that’s understatement, hyperbole’s arrest. When I’m feasting on fame and fortune’s Porterhouse, I’m inclined to forget, am I woman or mouse? When success has supplanted signs of a shoo-in, in my tower, I still ponder risks of ruin. My sanctuary saves me, mostly from my self; He stops my shovel’s dig, backfills the dreaded delf. ******* August 18, 2020 Silent One: Sanctuary Poetry Contest (couplets) Author's Notes: a delf is a mine, a quarry, a hole, or a grave.