The Overthinker

In the twilight’s misty evening,

As the world slips into dreaming,

Thoughts at liberty do tread

‘Round the paths inside my head,

Stamping out the day that’s past

’Til sleep puts them to rest at last.

Every word that broke a silence,

Every phrase, in peace or violence,

Lives anew; I see again

Things I said, and how, and when.

Play they on, in mocking tones,

And I must all them face, alone.

Thus, so cursed, I wait the morning,

And the glorious sunlight dawning,

When my thoughts no longer seem

To harp on such, incessantly,

But rather think on matters light,

Of happiness, and deeds aright.