It is a completely irrational fear.
But how much of our fear is rational….we who live in the insulated
walls of a culture bound by the common elastic thread of virtual
adventure, pixel-ed and polished before our eyes see the light (of
stars that die before we see the flash). The sources are lost before
we know they existed.
Even those who gazed up and out and feared the unknown star feared
no true danger, only remnants of what existed, once. Only the past.
I fear the past, and it is a completely irrational fear. I fear the
unknown and it too is irrational. I have a cigarette, the third
(lucky) strike, a physical blow, a rational fear I run to as a refuge
(you hurt those you love the most).
The rational fears we cling to like a mentor, pyro-maniacs poking gas
soaked matches in the furnace to singe our hairs and feel, to Feel
light raw and red and full in it’s original heat before they get to
it, strip it of it’s unknown.
I fear the irrational fear. The fear that seeps in at night on
long dark ways to a suburban house we all tried to make home.
The
glow
we sought was dead before we arrived. I fear the fear with no
source, no root to wrench away. When I pull this one I fall back.
Darkness where I thought there was light, where I expected
warmth but there is nothing.
Give me a thorn
I can grasp, give me a demon to run from. Give me a
living
fear so I can face death like an adversary.
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