What is this notion,
No. . no. . not a notion but an. . emotion?
It is not clear.
But this feeling,
Like being hit by a thrown spear,
Sends me reeling.
Now I know,
This feeling is clearly fear.
I would not know this though,
Unless I take the time to set down my stereotypes,
And deeply listen to the song of my internal voice pipes.
I see a sad face cringing,
Within the dusty corner of my thoughts.
As venomous past images are inflicting and infringing,
Sending my chest and stomach into knots.
Where is my courage now?
How can this injustice it allow?
Instead I hear the mundane vows,
Of my culture shaming me with a scowl!
Then my anger rushes to fear’s defense,
Indeed they are unlikely friends in the midst of an offense.
In unison they both scream, “Take away your pretense!”
An open door then appears,
And its edges are filled with living spikes,
For years we may stare at an object of our fears,
Perceiving that it strikes.
The object screams for us to take flight,
To not even glance beyond the door,
But courage then gives my own eyes sight,
And allow myself more.
Courage looks and sees the light,
It pleasures to give insight beyond the door,
Because it sees the meadows and mountains that soar,
Beyond that accursed door.
Courage says, “Sitting still is not enough,”
“That you are enough,”
“To take the leap of faith and move beyond the door.”
And after passing it I notice that I begin to soar.
An unlikely voice,
Meets courage here.
Of harm they wrestle to steer us clear,
But then they move hand in hand,
To encourage us to take a sacred stand.
© M. Keith Sartin, Jr.