The Attack

Five foot three, I stand my ground.
I don't scream; don't make a sound.
It pushes me; it pulls me down.
Were it water I'd surely drown.

It shadows me with constant threat
of deeds of undone, of goals unmet.
It meets me at first morning light
Despite the rest of yesternight.

Some days it tries to make me think
I will not drown, I will not sink.
I make some plans and say a prayer
It crushes me; it does not care.

What could be so bad you ask?
What holds me down, takes me to task?
What fights me, has me under siege?
You know its name, it's called fatigue.