a fear that wears many faces

we forget the face of fear yet

we're unsurprised when it strikes

darkness precedes the dawn

so when twilight strings faded constellations

across a dome of ink

how are we to know

the sun will wake again?

fear wears many faces

a wall of masks

which for this special occasion?

a dance of sparks

that burn and burn

across our humble fingertips

a breath in the incandescent laugh

of winter, and a jagged cut along

the cheek of an old prophecy

that we must fulfill again

and again

and again

and still we cower from slipping suns

hiding under planks of rotten wood

sunken with years of boots and memories

where we wait for the thin light of morning

to pool on our faces

and banish our fear to the recesses of our minds,

our cages of cowardice

that disguise themselves as spring flowers