I wrote this poem the other day, sitting in the lobby of my hotel in New York City. I hope you like it.
I feel something crawling underneath my skin,
A parasite of sorts living on my weakness.
It tears at love and eats away at my meekness,
Until there’s nothing good left within.
It feeds on worry and lives on hate,
It grows stronger when I am offended,
And when my resentment is open-ended.
Its strength grows when I am in such a state.
It speaks to me also, yet, not in words,
Rather, it entices with emotions and even with thoughts.
It poisons my mind with the hate that it wrought,
As it slowly leads me downwards, downwards…
But there is something else dwelling inside,
Who speaks to me as well,
Who picks me up from the road down to Hell.
He dwells on Love instead of pride.
This parasite in me who leads me down the slope,
Cannot fight against the dweller of my soul:
The one I adore, the one I extol.
The creator of Love, Joy, and Hope.