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Fluctuates, wanes, lingers,
Energy ebbs and flows,
Not liking where it goes.
Sinking down in quicksand,
Horizon of wasteland,
Bad dreams being sifted,
Instead of uplifted.
Feels like big Squishmallow,
Cuddly, soft, cute fellow,
Sliding down into sponge,
Supported by the plunge.
Now to get up and move,
Have lost momentum groove,
When I did stand and shake,
Jim sighted big brown snake!
Driveway packed dirt and stones,
Black ants and chicken bones,
Stinging nettle galore,
Rip them out in furore.
Weeding is not my thing,
Much to do much to bring,
Spray poison here and there,
Sunburnt arms and legs bare.
Things will be much better,
Writing creative letter,
Master Creator knows,
Shows beautiful the prose.
Getting up and about,
Despite all the sad doubt,
One more day at a time,
God ensures I am fine.
Remove thinking hollow,
It pulls, covers, devours,
Destroying the flowers.
Times like these have purpose,
Even if like tortoise,
Paint picture sans quicksand,
Cover over wasteland.
Canvas shows myriads
In future periods,
Of gorgeous wildflowers,
Lovely superpowers.
Psalm 69 verse two,
King David wrote to You,
Where there is no standing,
Only deep mire sinking.
He then went on to write,
About his needy plight,
Seeking deliverance…
With respect and reverence.
Psalm 69 verse fourteen,
And all words in between,
Pleading rescue from mire,
And situations dire.
Quicksand of depression,
Robs us of expression,
It can be much like that,
Bible to counteract.