what will be?

unknown fears
have a habit;
they creep and crawl
into crevices reserved
for love, for other things
like wishes and prayers.

they sit upon the heart,
refuse to budge
and settle,
uncomfortably within.
and then they creep up
toward the spine,
and find a home in the mind...

they snuff out rationality
smirk at logic that allays
fears that will not be
they tire every thought
that passes by
until sleep descends...

minutes pass...one by one,
and quite suddenly,
the heart screams
in futility,
pleads the mind to behold and see,
fear take on a monstrous form
never before seen


of course,
the mind has known fears like these,
hover around and disappear,
not this time...
for this time,
the fears
speak of darker ills

the mind knows then
that there will always be
a lump in the heart,
that will never cease to be,
for it reflects the state of humanity.

o! what have we come to be?
what more can we come to be?


written now, in the moment