It is with racing mind,
Aplenty of pace,
That I stare at my bed,
And instead,
Of warmth and solace,
What I find in this place,
Is a list of eternal length.
And I try to denote,
That which sticks in my throat,
Seeking not to disguise,
Confusion from mine eyes,
But to oust from my brain,
A muddying pain,
And to rest with eternal strength.