Grace

I thought the end was near, Bills piled up, like mountains steep, Societal pressures, a relentless roar, A tempest of troubles, turbulent and deep.   To escape is something, a desperate thought, As debtors encroached, wielding fiery scorn, Their eyes aflame, a ferocious glare, A relentless storm of anguish, forlorn.   Yet in the shadows...