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It haunts my
nights; it's calling me,
It speaks my name, enthralling me.
It's ever
present by my side,
And often it's appalling me.
It
doesn't want to let me go,
And in my progress, stalling me.
It's
second-guessing what I do,
And for that, it is galling me.
It preys
upon my weakened state,
While in its clutch installing me.
It's
Doubt that I am speaking of,
I feel like it is mauling me.
I try to
close my itching ears,
So I can't hear it calling me.
But I can
never rid the voice,
And to my grave it's hauling me.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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