Worried

I’ve been worried
That the harvest will not reap.
That the water will not flow.
I’ve been worried
About the confines of fear.
Is it that they make me?;
Force my puppet strings?
What of mind?
What of me?
Is my time yours?
And if it is
What am I to do?;
For I can not imagine
Other Ways
Or directions.
This must be right
For it feels so,
But still…

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