Misgiving

All beyond improbable is nearly in final stage For rigors of the labor results am yet to gauge At helm while directing in a muddle I seem lost Caught in sort of vortex my own demons I accost A belief in old prowess subsistence still directs Belying any of the doubt enroute which interjects Almost at a tethers end with upshot not in sight The day brings new hope each night begets a fright Every jab at my foresight pierces my real zest anew To trudge upon unknown and walked by far and few It may though feel eternal but not so bad in the end Dark it may so appear now but light is at coming bend