In earth-misted hollows
of the coming day,
prognostic claims
are holding sway.
Dark images swirl
inside my head
as I twist and turn
in troubled bed.
Shall I listen to lies
and respond in kind—
or joy in the glories
of infinite Mind?
Submit—or claim
my true birthright,
acknowledging God's
beneficent might?
I choose the real;
and as I rise,
the mists disperse
before my eyes.
