The power of nagging doubts
sometimes blasts me flat on deriere
with the force of a gushing fire hose.
More often it crunches and knaws
like a corps of termites,
dining on my hopes and plans,
turning some to dust.

And then it's bound to meet
a core of ironwood so strong
they're stopped in time, before
they can mature into beliefs
that I can't get up, or worse,
that living and playing
in the sawdust is enough.

I can banish their illusions
and refortify the walls, but
confidence crumbles over
again from mockin...