My Worst Enemy
My worst enemy is not the passing year,
nor winter waiting at the garden gate;
not loneliness that whispers, “You are here,”
nor all the little cruelties of fate.
My worst enemy has learned my name,
and walks beside me, silent as a shade;
it knows my every weakness, doubt, and shame,
and feeds upon the promises I’ve delayed.
It tells me, “You are old; the road is through.
The dreams you carried have outlived their day.
Why climb the hill? What more remains to do?
Sit down, be still, and let the light decay.”
But I have met this enemy before—
I know its voice, though once I called it me.
It is the fear that closes every door
before the heart discovers it is free."
So let the years come marching as they must;
let autumn take the leaves from every tree.
I may grow old, but I refuse to rust—
my worst enemy is the self I cease to be.
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