state of confusion
When the seeds of doubt take sprout,
fret and worry consume the day,
sucking up the ambient light
like a secret, tucked away.
The sky is still as blue, but it eludes you,
why do we gauge this voice inside,
why do we listen to this void,
when we should just let it slide.
Come on, let it slide.
Itís only a voice
after all, like a fist
tight and small.
The day is just as bright, just like night
with the moon to guide our way,
feeling that old voice articulate,
keeping joy at bay.
Itís just a habit, a bad one at that,
like living life along the fray,
letís go outside, letís be children,
come, letís enjoy the day.
© 2000 CM Bailey