Foreignity
You say you fear the fall.
To that I say, you have one fewer friend,
one fewer neighbour to love and embrace.
To that I ask, why are you capable of fearing
if you've been the one trampling,
never seen the dirt
or known the ground
that catches your every stumble?
You say you fear the rain.
To that I say, you have antagonized
the purest love of Mother Earth
and sheltered yourself
from her welcoming hands.
Do you truly believe
that the umbrellas and coats
enjoy soaking wet too?
That droplets of the same cloud enjoy separating
and crashing into you too?
You say you fear the future.
To that I say, the light may not glare,
nor will the tunnel ever shrink,
yet you keep walking.
How much cement have you smelled;
how many more tears must you sniff
before noticing pollen between the cracks
or the nose between your very eyes?
You say you fear people.
To that I have little to say,
little as your trust; little as the bond
between you and the self.
To that I observe your paranoia leaking through;
to blind others from beauty
your own eyelids fall heavy to see.
Why do you will such pettiness
to feed on such minor fears?
You'd allow your wit to wilt,
your fear to flourish; your heart to hover
just to strip your courage
of the desire to conquer.
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