The Gravity of Doubt

What thought for life
torments me enough
to keep from flinging
this dismal soul—
gift-wrapped in flesh—
from these towered heights?

The days were swift
and gone.
Fear grips
this would-be stone,
preventing the fall
that the will now fights.

“Blessed is the Lord,”
my heart defends,
what my mind has opposed,
hammering this hesitant,
restless soul with
heavy,
leaden
blows.