The Prescription - A Sonnet Poem by Richard St. Clair

Pet peeves can make the mind a maudlin mess:
Don't be bugged when larger things obtain.
A life of brooding sure will never gain
The peace of mind I've found, or so I guess.
But, truth be told, my serenity depends
On artificial means, of chemistry
That years' long past has changed my destiny
With all the calm a daily dosage lends.
A life enduring trauma, lived, have I,
Inured in panic, horrors learned, a dread
That threatens still to leave me nearly dead;
I've plumbed my past to learn the how and why.
But pills I swallow do their part to quell
The pains and panic of my years in hell.