Foreboding, bosom buddy

ever hopeful eyes

blink tiredly from glassy form;

jumbled tense spasmodic eels

writhe unwelcomes from within.

Fretting, the child in me startles,

plunged back to freezing cold earth

lest I forget myself

get too big for my boots

and feel real, indisputable joy.

The jumbled inner slew

interwoven seamlessly;

I hardly perceive

my heart racing  ever decreasing circles

to cross a finish line

it cannot even see.

Anxiety, will you ever let me be?

Pauline Brown 2019


the little things

Wholly misread,

strength hints skirmish won

venture laboured,

mountain climbed despite;

Rather, I feel

the mundane, frustrating pulse of life

heart knocks clashing drum

feet tap rebellious tune

yet somehow we shine.

Scrub same dishes every day

kiss same trusting foreheads

sweep same dust from same corners

climb same thirteen stairs to sleep same

fitful hours before it all revs up again.

Strength, my dear, is not fierce battle

but perpetual trickle of hope

peek of rainbow urging indifferent

heart to beat another day

swearing this time

to do better. Courage.

You are a lion.

And a lamb.

Be bold my love

it fits nicely on those aching shoulders

and suits you very well.

Pauline Brown 2019