You fear most things – public places, heights
Good looking people, spiders, geckos and little Centipedes.
You realize that your fear this
You fear that, you fear everything under the sun
You have become fear, only a faint glow
Inside your irises that a lass sees, and an echo
That you hear calling you, like Saul or David
Were once summoned, as your redemption.
Yet it’s not God, or Schizophrenia or the conscience
Nor the Adam’s apple or a ventriloquist
Only a hero searching for his sword
To lay down, at long last, his brass shield.