Being Overwhelmed
The tide of things, it crashes in, a maelstrom in my head, A symphony of should-do's, a chorus of what's dread. The lists unfurl like endless scrolls, a tapestry of plight, Each task a knotted thread, a burden held too tight.
The air I breathe, it thickens, hangs a fog of weary woes, The clock, a mocking metronome, that counts the time it owes. Deadlines loom like thunderheads, their shadows cast so long, I stumble, lose my footing, fear the current's pull is strong.
The weight of emails, unread, a mountain at my door, Each ping a tiny hammer, tapping on a raw nerve sore. The phone, a buzzing insect, demanding voice and ear, Another plea, another need, another distant tear.
My thoughts, once vibrant butterflies, now trapped in cages dim, Flit frantic, wings a blur, against the bars within. The words I sought to capture, now a jumbled, muffled plea, Lost in the cacophony, the rising tide of me.
The world outside, a whirlwind, spins with reckless glee, Oblivious to my shipwreck, the storm that rages free. The laughter, conversations, a language I can't speak, My tongue a knotted rope, unable to find the peak.
I close my eyes, seek solace, in the darkness of this well, But shadows twist and turn here, whisper tales that cannot quell. The doubts, they slither serpents, coiling 'round my weary heart, Their whispers sharp and venomous, tearing every dream apart.
The weight upon my shoulders, a crushing, silent stone, The future, once a promise, now a path I walk alone. The ground beneath my feet, a quicksand pulling fast, I claw for something solid, a grip that will at last
Hold me steady, lift me clear, from this engulfing tide. But all I find are fragments, pieces scattered far and wide. The pieces of my purpose, the shards of what I'm meant to be, Lost in the churning chaos, the storm that drowns the sea.
Is this the human condition, this burden we all bear? This constant, gnawing pressure, this suffocating snare? To juggle, spin, and stumble, through a maze of endless might, To yearn for peace, for stillness, in the echoing, endless night?
But wait, a whisper stirs, a faint, resilient hum, A spark within the ashes, a life that won't succumb. A tiny, trembling ember, in the corner of despair, A flicker of defiance, a breath of mountain air.
It whispers of resilience, of strength that bends but won't break, Of lessons learned in darkness, the wisdom shadows make. It speaks of grace in slowing, of letting go the fight, Of trusting in the ebb and flow, the rhythm of the night.
It sings of fractured moments, where beauty can reside, In laughter shared with strangers, in tears that freely slide. It tells of tiny victories, of tasks that find their end, Of stepping stones assembled, on which a soul can mend.
The tide may still be rising, the storm may rage on high, But I will build a fortress, within my weary eye. With stones of self-compassion, and bricks of gentle breath, I'll find a sanctuary, where hope can conquer death.
I'll let the lists be paper boats, and watch them drift away, Release the emails, unread, another chance to play. I'll mute the phone's insistent chime, and close the screen so bright, And step into the darkness, to find the guiding light.
For in the quiet corners, where shadows softly fall, A different song is playing, a gentle, patient call. It speaks of hidden rivers, that flow beneath the din, Of strength that comes in stillness, where healing can begin.
So let the waves come crashing, let the thunder roll its drum, I'll hold this fragile ember, and watch it slowly hum. I'll gather up the fragments, the pieces I once knew, And build a mosaic masterpiece, of all the colors true.
For in the depths of overwhelm, where shadows hold their sway, A different kind of courage, a different kind of day, Will rise with quiet wisdom, and whisper in my ear, "The tide may come and go, dear one, but you, you will persevere."
