The thing I'm most scared of, more than mortal wound
Is Giving Up.
To sit, an empty teacup
the porcelain home, a thick crochet
the empty grocery bag upon the shelf
I want to run, run far
from sterile, deadened rooms
that once glowed bright in lifefulness
Nodding along to the sleepy tune
another thousand times -
I tremble for that fate.
To exist without the fire of love! -
without the burning and the flames and
ashes that renew
A life lacking fire -
More like death to me
Than dying itself.
So I'm to pack my teacups
I'm off to explore
I'll crochet a cloak for my back if I must
take my own hand and run
out the door.
On, to Life on a sunny rocky road.
Because - the thing I'm most scared of, more than mortal wound
Is Giving Up.
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