Sometimes I put pen to paper,
or thumbs to keypad,
that my cares may rise like vapour to one that's greater.

These times have left me aloof,
often blind to the truth,
waking up everyday with a sense of renewed hope,
simultaneously with dense legs that don't want to get out of bed cause I won't cope.

Walking this fine line where I'm subject to a steep positive ***** with my head in the clouds or a negative drop with my face in these psalms.
Selah.
A carrier of this deceased old me hanging and weighing down on the free man.

Coming to realise how hard it is to optimize in this life,
much easier to stay paralysed and pessimize all the strife.

I got so many lines about these tough times but only one thing I'm really trying to say.

When we see a monsier or madame on the other side of the lane and they're clearly in pain we shouldn't refrain, to engage in their sorrow; whisper a word or two for them to the one called True. Maybe go a little further and ask them how they do?

Oh how consoling it is to know a faithful friend from the bitter days to the better ends.

Whichever way that the valley bends may we say that we never really walked alone. Plucking from the beak of a famous duck: It's hard to do these things alone,
so just hold on we'll make it home.