Did you ever get down, to that wretched, dirty place,
Where everything you tried and tried, failed to win the race.
You waged inside yourself, to try to save face,
But ended up defeating you; effort without a trace.
Of progress, toward your journey's end.
Just a sea of trouble, coming up around the bend.
Just a problem so insignificant that came before it went.
Bedeviling the bejeebies out of you, as though it was sent.
By some diabolical evil, to mess with your day.
Some sorcerer's spell, to just get in your way.
An itch so bad you cannot scratch.
A stain you cannot clean from your patch.
Of reputation you take with you.
When you leave this mortal venue.
So, relax, refocus your thoughts, and try to sleep, if you can.
Before this frustration gets you, and gets you bad, man.
Copyright 2001 © Ronald W. Hull