Posts Tagged ‘fear’

I didn’t expect to be so scared.

I’m just going back,

but there’s so many new things in my life.

I want to explore,

and yet I’m scared of the unknown.

I want to succeed,

but I’m terrified of failure.

I’m hoping someone will be there

to lend a hand and help me through this.

Please tell me this isn’t dread, just nervousness.

Death of oneself be

more feared-

by Cowards- than death

of one who is near and dear.

Fear of Injury-

of Loss, and Regret-

keeps me stationary,

though I wish to transcend It.

Rejection, Failure,

I have faced them both before.

I am not afraid

of Another’s Conjecture.

 

I am more afraid

that what is produced by me,

will- through Another’s Eyes-

reveal no Quality.

Something of majesty,

the forest encapsulated

in this tiger’s eye.

 

Lithing its snow-white feet

in my dreams, against murk

of jungle. Flames of pelt fly,

 

cinders soaring

to ignite this shadowland.

Morning is not nigh,

 

but fear before this

blazing beast

would be wise to flee.

Why do I feel like a villain,

for intruding upon the monotony of your life,

for being put in a haze by rush of blood to my skull,

for overexamining my life as one might pour over a road map

because the future extends in so many directions

and it frightens me.

I am a child

thrown into a new world,

a new experience,

unprepared.

Now I’m scared

because you learned my secrets, and you can divulge them;

because I opened myself to you, and you,

while you blame me for overreacting

for holding on even though you do the same

and it’s tearing me apart

because you’re so hypocritical,

and I’m pulling my hair out

and I don’t want to be afraid,

but I don’t know how not to be.

Out

as a candle

dims and breathes its last

dark gray curl of smoke.

Out of the clutter,

the hands of loved ones

not to far off,

the bookshelves standing

like sentinels,

the bedroom walls boarding your body in,

but not your breath,

not your spirit.

You were not afraid.

Fear of death

is for the young people.

You lived long enough, well

enough. It was time

to say goodbye

to it all.

And so you did.

When you enter,

you step into yourself

and confront all the things

that you’ve kept buried.

Green-brown spires 

with their limbs- gnarled like weeds-

cast shadows, block

out the sunlight-you must search for it.

The brown path is not worn,

the ground is cold, 

and singing seems pointless here,

because the wizened trees of your mind

will suck the joy out of the tune

and reduce your voice to a stammer.

 

Know

that there are more people 

than solely you in this forest.

All paths intertwine,

and people are never alone.

But be careful what you say

as you stumble through the woods;

you never know what innocent children

will hear your curses

from the thicket on the other side.

An iron wall,

a barricade,

a suit of armor

that doubles as a mask.

This is what we wear.

We put them around our minds.

We find comfort in our defenses-

blank-faced, revealing little

or nothing at all.

No one can see the fear,

then.

The fear of being hurt.

If we don’t let anyone past these boundaries,

we think we’ll never be harmed.

But the truth is,

they trap us

in our fear.

There is a certain nobility

in silence.

If one is composed,

one can slip juicier tidbits of conversation

back, into the stomach of memory.

A silent one can hear his or her house fall, and buy a new one.

A silent one can hear the animals die,

and go out and bring them in to save her family.

A silent one can hear poison

dripped into his cup.

A silent one can hear the stars falling.

                         *

There is a certain terror in silence.

In dead of hours of day,

the sound of the sinking sun

reminds the listener

that this will all end- washed out, black,

without a sun.

In the warm clutches of folds of night

a listening one has only her thoughts,

or his heart to listen to:

and the thoughts say

“you will die, you will die. This darkness

may be the last, or only thing you see,”

and the hearts says

“i am dying, i am dying. Hear how faint i am?”

                          *

Dear reader,

you are a listener.

You are also a silent one.

Everyone, occasionally, is.