What is this anxiety?
The madness that trembles within.
"But it was provoked from without!"
shouts the voice of a defensive mind.
It brings me comfort..,
It allows me to become a victim...
Could it be then, that I am so weak and susceptible?
So easily influenceable and manipulatable,
that my being ceases to exist in the presence of discomfort?
That I am none but a robot that abides to command?
A machine that responds to whatever is imputed into my system?
A poor and hopeless puppet?
I open my eyes, however, and what do I see?
A perfect and finite organic structure commanded by will.
No buttons. No strings nor chords attached to me,
Just a meek ghostly voice that whispers to my ear.
A command that was, perhaps, useful, once upon a time.
But has long been outdated and made obsolete.
A truth that once was but, now, has been proven a-fake.
So I resist the stimulus no more and give in to the feel,
I embrace the discomfort, that dreaded shock of madness that haunts,
The ghost of Christmas past,
That awful boogieman that lives only in my dreams.
So I sit and I wait while he whispers to my ear,
And he growls and he barks and he threatens to take over!
But I sit and I wait until it starts to disappear...
There is something within me, a fountain power.
I'm no longer a victim of what happens around me,
I stand up in the turmoil, I no longer cower.
I suddenly get it, there's no need to fight.
I know God's within me, it'll all be alright.
