Rock Star Turbulence

There is an ache when finally facing

your deepest fears, gently setting them

in a safe corner, carrying on in opposition

to their desperate plea for you to continue

only the familiar, well worn path,

the one you are determined

to step away from in order to become a rock star.

Early afternoon is hardest, when the sun angles in

and the long evening is just around the bend,

when you must keep walking this new way

at a time when it would be so easy to give up,

fold into old habits, pat your dreams on the head,

set them on the shelf and act like there never was

a higher notion.

Sadness is knowing that if those dreams were shelved,

you couldn't properly go back to an old path.

The possibilities would become ghosts that weave a whisper

through every decision you make, even to stir the potatoes lest they stick.

There you'd be at the stove, your arm swirling

in deference to the mundane, your heart aching in the never-knowing

if it would have been better, if you might have flown.

Accepting the difficult truth, you walk straight

into the path of perceived risk, a single tear,

the sign of courageous determination, sliding

down your cheek, falling from your face,

a soft breeze cooling your wet skin as you hold on tight

through the turbulence of takeoff, and look forward

to the day you just might soar.