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I
In haunted house she’d lived with all her scare,
Lived all alone but with her barest bones, 
With monsters chasing her in a nightmare, 
O amidst company of groans and moans. 
One of which once drew close—one so raven,
She felt death's icy breath that froze her blood, 
And all her being was so fear-stricken, 
Her frost blood boiled and rushed in sudden flood. 
It sprinted then as if from hell haunted, 
Chased and cornered by Death, poor helpless she, 
Nowhere to go turned back, shell-shocked with dread, 
And finding her long lost voice yelled, why me? 

The voice, from depth of soul and free from fear, 
Frightened demon who stepped back, backward gear—

II
Backward, the only place O to retreat, 
Challenged, devils always look grim and dim—
The better part of valour— t’be discreet, 
It said: is not it only but a dream? 
She should have known, fear takes many a name: 
Dread and worry, panic and anxiety, 
Each a differently dressed variety, 
When exposed, made all nude, it looks the same. 
Taught to evade things, to procrastinate, 
We seldom question, nor ever control, 
Fear, made to hide in not-so-deep a hole,  
In ways peculiar would pontificate.                                 

Her fear had stalked from frightened skin to scare, 
Helpless and cornered, found she had her dare.
 ___________________________________________ 
Crown of sonnets | 02.08.2010, recast: August 2023| fear

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