It comes a stalking,
whispering what could happen
or what might never.
Wearing life’s face,
it morphs into image after image,
playing its horror film
where annihilated egos star.
It’s been at my ear lately –
its chosen entertainment,
warning me of impending hurt;
advising me to build a wall.
And I began, most obediently
to lay brick after brick,
mortaring with yeah’s and uhuh’s, that’s the right decision.
But I got tired. I left the wall unfinished,
where I can still see the garden beyond –
where flowers bloom in the light of possibility;
where trees reach up to a sky of potential.