Everything is wrong (poem)

clouds press in and promise stinging rains
each corner of the world now bent, awry
the anchor of each day is little pains.

a life stretched tight across hard-pounding veins
and every small thing bloodies up the eye;
clouds press in and promise stinging rains.

the quality of mercy groans and strains
week by week, the well threatens to run dry;
the anchor of each day is little pains.

born free, oh yes, but everywhere in chains,
anxiety a blanket on the sky
clouds press in and promise stinging rains.

so hard to say, in full, what so constrains
and pegs the spirit that was wont to fly 
the anchor of each day is little pains.

the body hurts, and sadness freely reigns
in each last plaintive unlooked-for goodbye
clouds press in and promise stinging rains.
the anchor of each day is little pains.

- Kathy, 1/ 9/14