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Poem of the Month – Worry

By on Apr 15, 2015

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From when I was little I worried over far too much

I worried about my toys and all the things I could not touch

 

I worried about my food and that my milk wouldn’t last

And I worried about my childhood disappearing so fast

 

I worried about my friends and what they might think of me

And about my relatives and my annoying family

 

I worried about being too bright in my class at school

That the other boys would pick on me for being so uncool

 

I worried all through my teenage years of adolescence

When it came to birthdays that I wouldn’t get any presents

 

When adulthood came, I found that life was no different

I worried that what I said would be taken not as I meant

 

I worried about the house I bought and car I would drive

Then worried I was working too much to feel fully alive

 

I worried about the wife I loved so desperately

I worried about our life of mutual dependency

 

And that we’d not be able to have the children I craved

Then I worried that the love in our marriage would start to fade

 

I worried every day about the kids I adored

I worried that the money I earned was not enough to hoard

 

Then I worried that the world was too big to be explored

I worried that life’s memories couldn’t be properly stored

 

I worried about politics and problems in the east

And I worried about the starving and those who had the least

 

I worried that life was passing by all too speedily

I worried I was approaching middle age so greedily

 

I worried about accidents, illness, disease and death

I worried that all too soon I would be running out of breath

 

I worried about religion; the God I could not find

Then worried about the life I loved and what I’d leave behind

 

I worried about slowing down and struggling to compete

And then I worried there was too much left for me to complete

 

I worried about prices and how much it all now cost

I worried about the opportunities I’d had and then lost

 

I worried about the fact I was running short of days

And I worried about the clarity turning into haze

 

I worried about time passing, the onset of old age

I worried about the peace I needed instead of my rage

 

I worried about the silence and the decrepitude

I worried about enforced loneliness and sad solitude

 

I worried if there was a future and what it would bring

I worried that when at last my time came no angel would sing

 

What did I learn – was I happy, sad, frustrated, sorry?

Perhaps I just wish I hadn’t spent life in ceaseless worry

 

I’d worried about it all and what my wisdom was worth

But then I could worry no more six feet deep under the earth

 

For the uneasy truth that abides with us now, my friend:

Enjoy beginning and middle – before it reaches the end.

 

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