Brief history of a life so far

I fear not being.

I fear not realising my dream
more so, not knowing it.

I do things inhuman-like
it pays for my pens, those that help me search.

I get up, follow the routine and occasionally
occasionally I feel something different
it nudges and stirs the stagnant pools of
day-to-day.

I am terrified of the dark inside
so readily sculpting the view from my window.
How can it so?

I caught a glimpse of fearlessness in 1992,
it lodged and dined for nearly three weeks,
entering like waves of softened silk,
uncreasing the starchy folds between my dawn and dusk.

My truth revealed above in type,
unmasks a newness sought here.