There’s fear found deep behind those gentle eyes,
One fierce and raging ’neath a soft disguise
That’s been well practiced and refined, now played
As naturally as wind plays trees—fear weighed
In tons not ounces—fear acquired young
Though you’re not twelve—youth’s song now left unsung.
Like rust to a once well-sharpened knife your fear
Has dulled your wit and left your joy austere.
What ill, unblossomed flower, has wilted you
Before you’ve bloomed? What demon thing has tied
Your heart in chains of fire-wrought fear undue
For ev’n hell’s foulest beast? What judgment’s wide
Enough to turn hell’s black to heaven’s hue
And free your captive heart? God will decide.
© 2012 Eric Evans