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By Tony DeLorger © 2103
In doubts of treacle like viscous sludge,
I wade with laden burdens grudge,
to destination both unsure, profound,
where answers hide and pain resounds.
I cannot stop this struggle forward,
I've tried to still my heart, but more would,
hold me here in this pool of grief,
without the slightest kind release.
And doubts still hinge my mind of question,
dragging spite and mis-direction,
grasping hard my wildest hopes,
and mincing them like flesh remote.
Until I squirm and writhe in pain,
the doubts that hold me scald my brain,
and every word of truth I've known,
just withers dead from lofty throne.
And shallow I who sees not dreams,
of all that I could possibly be,
without the doubts of foolish men,
applied to life my reverence send.
For I know my soul does wish it true,
to flight with all my dreams pursued,
and find in heart my words to bare,
all that haunts my life, I care.
Doubt is a fundamental part of decision making, but when doubts fill a mind to the point of inaction, they become an encumbrance and limit outcomes.