Crochets and Teacups

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.