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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Dark · #2326950
A poem in Brady's Touch form (described following the poem) about an uncertain future.
I lie awake too often, sweating,
questioning the state of my being,
panicked at what each new day holds,
frantic that I can do little.
Unsure.

There is little to gain by fretting.
I can not escape it by fleeing.
I must face my future alone,
a future that's all too brittle,
obscure.




Brady's Touch:
2 5-line stanzas
Syllabic, 9-9-8-8-2 9-9-8-8-2.
Rhyme scheme abxcd abxcd. x being unrhymed.
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