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I count not my blessings
darkest part of the day
when anxi’ty wakes me
and upon me it preys.
Though my life is blessed
I’m a morbid fellow,
phantoms swirl around me
with grip that won’t let go.

Sunshine of high mountains,
blue skies, pastoral fields,
are the peaks but valleys
to my moroseness yield.
Troughs of waves are pounding
and flip me end-to-end
steals very air I breathe
though I’m safe in my bed.

No one hears alarm bells
cause me to rise and shine
for the blaring Klaxons
are all just in my mind.
With beasts I do struggle
for which there is no name;
make eyes big as saucers
and refuse to be tamed.

Two a.m.’s too early
to rise up from my bed
I long to exorcise
the phantoms in my head.
My ghosts so unyielding
refuse to let me go
so I’ll sit and endure
their never ending blows.