Yours is a mind hampered by query
And an outlook anxious and dire
Foreseen through aching eyes so weary.
You have conjured many a theory:
I have heard them all at some stage prior.
Yours is a conscience struggling to cope
And a heart that is suffering thus.
Once vivacious, boasting boundless hope;
Now plummeting down a foreign slope
Though you opt to paint it and not discuss.
Yours is a spirit devoid of charm
Yet you hide behind feeble defence.
Reciting one meek biblical psalm
Will not rid you of a single qualm,
And your hollow words are impotent hence.
Yours is a case which one can suppress
Though it is a weak man who ignores
That there are problems he must address.
So rescind your false act and confess,
Then conquer these meddlesome woes of yours.
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