My soul
is racing,
comfort-erasing.
My chest feels stood upon.
My insides are
knotted earphones.
I’m a Jenga tower,
one block from collapse.
I need someone
I can dump
burdens onto, to take
what makes me weary,
eyes teary,
each conspiracy theory.
Shoulders to carry loads of loads
and to show me a better way.
Sheep don’t drink from
moving waters.
Kinetic flow
spooks the fleece off mutton.
A good shepherd
leads to still waters
and digs out troughs
to nourish and restore.
In troubled times
there’s one who is with us
and is for us
and for our sanity.
He calls us to be still.
So still.
And know.
Our Shepherd is good.
Flop down. Settle.
He’ll show just where
our stilled waters
are to be found.