even late night posts.
It may be something in the air,
or something in the planes beyond,
but anxiety has been hanging around me lately.
Not for any particular reason, by the way, just the fact that I feel there’s so much to do and so little time.
Do nothing, they say. And all will be done.
How can I avoid time when I’m constantly being handed stopwatches and clocks?
Where does it go? Where does it go?
I praise the day that rises tomorrow.
As much as I love my job, there’s just something about Fridays I look forward to. Maybe it’s the podcast.
So why do I cry?
Drowning in a restless heart, I scattered to finish what’s been left to do at my place;
So much to do, so much to do.
I stare into My Lord’s eyes;
What do I do Ma?
What’s wrong with me?
And all I get is Love.
And nothing more.
What else is left to give?
Fire in my eyes;
fire in Hers.
What do I do?
So I write.
I write this to you.
for being here. With me.
Let’s talk again tomorrow.