What is this nameless fear,
this dread,
that holds me in waking paralysis?
An incubus lurking in my shadow,
a nightmare just out of sight,
it seems to whisper of a coming calamity:
societal insanity raining down
inane judgements on my head.
Some unknown jury and executioner
sharpen their knives and axes,
licking blood off their teeth
in expectation of tasting my own.
If I stay silent, I will drown,
drawn under into their current,
always wary of being hooked,
netted, harpooned and pulled forth, writhing.
If I speak, and do not lie,
then I will burn in the pyre of their eyes,
their screams, their calumnies.
And if I lie—No.
I will not lie. And so, I choose to burn,
in blinding flames that cast
out the darkness in their minds.
If this dread is my doom,
then I will turn to face it,
name it,
and fear no more.
May 10, 2022
Poem: What is This Nameless Fear
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