Fear sounds like all things good.
It sounds like honour and pride in a youthful smile,
like a well fed stomach, with no room for bile;
like my guitar's strings on a moon-less night;
like the Autumns and Springs when I flew my kite;
like the stench in the breath of a loving canine;
like the tranquillity in a monk's eyes, that'd never be mine;
like brotherhood, trust, love and friendship;
like the familiarity in a caring smile, playing on a stranger's lip;
like the fragrance of crumpled bedsheets,
dusty cupboards and unposted letters,
like a trip back home along the wobbly streets
full of memories, acceptance, forgiveness and craters;
like the hope in prayers, and goodness in unsung charity;
like a little of loneliness, a tinge of silence, a bit of the night sky and some poetry.
Ah, fear indeed sounds like all things good;
nay, not of the beauty in having known them all,
but of the tragedy that all would one day fall,
that nothing ever lasts forever,
not today, not never.
Fear.
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