I'm not really all that mysterious

Fear of Starting

Worried that if I start, then I won’t finish
all these loose wayward threads
I am still shuffling, still scavenging
untying knots and burning frayed ends

The words don’t come any more, my mind is in disarray
Giving shape to my thoughts
giving form to my misgivings
Where am I? And where have I been?
the mind whirls and twirls and spins

Maybe if I find a rhythm? Maybe if I can craft and fashion a rhyme?
Once upon a time those movements saved me
giving hope through the fire and darkness and the bleak empty silence
only the distant roaring of the ocean
the sonic static surging of the cosmic wind
phosphors blink on and off on my windscreen

It was that bridge and that awful feeling
the smoke and the smothering heat
those memories are intertwined now
like strangling roots, striving for space
for a little bit of sunlight and water and cool soil

There were chances and there were risks
none of them taken
nothing ventured, but perhaps at least a little gained
regret for what you didn’t do is a solid thing
you can carry it all the way to the grave

yet still the paths were laid before me
to meet the angel waiting for my arrival
though she did not know it
and I nearly lost my faith
surely hope is a strange and fickle thing

I cannot know where this twisting, turning leads to through this garden of forking paths up past the oak trees and the ash
giving way to fir and pine and the mountaintop looming

The words lead me here, syllable by syllable
I did not know the way
I still do not know the way
But maybe for a single moment,
I can be still

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