Pressure pounding upon my brain,

Wild feelings I can’t restrain. 


Rumors running through my head,

Filling me with awful dread. 


Muscles taut as banjo strings,

Ringing in my ears that sings. 


Itching that no scratch can cure,

Brain pain turned to deaf ear. 


Squeezing me into that terrible place,

Where I have no time, no space. 


Pushing forward through it all,

I grit my teeth for the fall. 


Until my awful day is done,

And I can relax and be as one.


With the evening sun’s fiery blotter,

Bleeding the pressure from me like water.


So I can sleep the sleep of kings. 

And dream of peaceful things. 


Until the morning rushes in again. 


Copyright 2002 © Ronald W. Hull




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