Anxious

Writhing worms eat at my gut;

I chew my nails and tap my foot.

With gritted teeth and nostrils flared,

Mind whispering, “You’re unprepared.”

I drop the phone; it rings again.

Though I should eat, I’ll work instead.

My fellow workers with heads bowed

Press along without a sound.

Weariness tugs at my eyes,

Tugs at my focus, at my mind.

Far more to do; I dare not rest—

Rest is a rare and treasured guest.

The work encircles me and grins,

Reminds me I’m far from the end.

What if I fail or fall apart?

Fall short, don’t finish what I start?

What if they look at me and then

They purse their lips and condescend?

“Couldn’t handle life, it seems:

He unraveled at the seams.”

“He could never get it done.

So much for promise; he had none.”

Or worse, they’ll fail to notice me,

Or if they do, smile politely,

And in their eyes, I’ll always see,

They know they are more than me.

The cost of failure is too high,

So bend my back and give a sigh,

And press ahead with my next task.

For rest and peace, I cannot ask.

Tranquility I cannot know,

For failure I must never show.

“Why are you anxious?” He said.

“Cast your cares on me instead.

Why do you worry all the time?

I cannot fail, and you are mine.”

“This foolish world could never see

Everything you are to me.

But did they craft you with their hands?

No!—indeed, I crafted them.”

“Mountains sprout like flower shoots

Precisely when I tell them to,

As do planets, stars, and seas,

And you are more than all of these.”

“For I made you to be like me,

And just to keep you close, I’d bleed.

Take my rest; it’s from above.

You cannot fail out of my love.”