There is no finer point to fear.
Like cold lips pressed to your forehead,
it leaves no sense of comfort.
Why then do we cling to things
that make fear into a bed partner,
a soulless companion,
that only steals more from you
each day it walks beside you?
I’d rather chance the worst,
let the feared thing come,
let it rip, tear, moan,
leave my patch of heaven resembling hell.
For once the worst passes, there is calm.
In calm I can rebuild
and I am quite good at laying foundations.