Bête Noire

Bête Noire - by Crystal R. Cook

If I knew why the world
sometimes crumbles,
when the earth
neath my feet is sound,

I might forget to fall.

If I could see
the raging storm
was only a summer breeze
of a passing season,

I might not hide at all.

If I was certain
flood waters
were not rising too fast
for me to safely swim,

I might not have to drown.

If I could just believe
the fears I fear
were lies, unfounded,
figments of my mind,

I might keep both feet on the ground.

confounding little voice, whispering in the mind
infinitesimal, insignificant – ultimately powerless . . .

until

acknowledged, fed –  held close to the heart like mother nestling a babe, wrap it like a cloak, a chrysalis safe and warm, cower within till it torments no more . . .

except

it’s an illusion, a blanket of lies keeping the light veiled in shadow, growing heavy, heavier in the darkness, suffocating, stealing breath, parasitic thief consuming, devouring reality, regurgitating anxiety, apprehension and despair . . .

   bête noire

undeserving of avowal, recognition, appellation . . . purge, disembogue, cast out, unbaptize, reject, refuse, restrain, dethrone the beast from lofty place to bowels of depths unknown . . .

rise

ascend past heights attainable by intrusive, binding thought, look back and you will fall –

                  spread wings of grace and soar.

~ finis ~

Crystal R. Cook

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