Dear Immanuel,

would you mind

if, for a time,

here rest I, ‘til I’m ready?

I have found,

through time and sound,

my head grows rather heavy.

//

I confess,

I am a mess,

but only on the inside-

look, and find,

I’m in a bind,

with nowhere else to confide.

//

where else can

I find a hand

that won’t grow cold while holding?

it appears

my common fears

oft daily have me folding.

//

all the rest,

they do their best,

to listen, and to help me.

but they grow bored

while my fears roared-

not softer in their repeats.

//

it’s not their fault

empathy halts-

I know mine has its limits.

but we all need

an Ear that heeds

our constant-fearing spirits.

//

a Shoulder where

our souls can bare

repeated little terrors.

even when

WE’RE sick of them,

we need a tender Carer.

//

and so I ask

You with me, bask,

but not embrace my fearing-

just stay with me

and Comfort, be,

whene’er my fears come rearing.

///