Looking Up

The doubts knock against my front door

I must tend to them

The habits sleep on the back porch

I must shoo them

Vigilance is my post

The Lord keeps my heart a-rythym

And I maintain my breathe

In spite of the mild upkeep, my state is deteriorating

It is nighttime, as always

And the moon is arbitrary

What matters is hope

And the reality of the near future