The tick of a typewriter wont compare to the frustrated rhythm of thoughts.
A constant whack of hammering stress tries to latch to my every breath.
Heavy is my chest as the soul gasps- grasping to be free of these worries.
What the heart knows- my mind wont be convinced.
He who has promised is faithful, what does it look like to walk in trust?
Like the typewriters tape, thoughts snake and choke my words.
Prayers come desperate and quick. The bar slides-am I just losing ground?
You see me confident; standing tall.
But inside with every strike of the key my stature shrinks.
Insecurities spelled out.
"X" marks the spot where a typo was exposed.
Reword and try again, fingers tremble a the slurred prose.
I may be wavering but BLAST! I will hope.
Learn to dance in rhythm with the ticking thoughts
The hammer is a chisel to reveal the soul on the inside of this marble shell.
