OCD

It is our phantom in the night,
And from our fear, takes great delight
It is the burden of our day,
The beast which always barres the way

It is our stalker, crouching near,
Which sniggers if we shed a tear,
The mocking voice from deep within
That tells us of our dreadful sin

It’s the shadowed form which taints our dreams,
So sanity breaks its weakened seams,
The monster in its hidden lair,
No chance for us to catch its glare

Though in its blackened shade, we chill,
But never lose our growing will,
To feel the warm sun on our face,
With thoughts at rest in every place

But it’s still our phantom in the night,
And from our fear, takes great delight,
The tiring burden of our day,
The beast which still stands in our way.

stevieb,  May 17, 2010