fear poems

Among the moonlit thistle
in guilt-ridden fleece
weeping under thick coats of burden
Grief never truly sheared
whispered prayer trembling fear
Now spun and artfully woven
the heavy woolen blanket
emotionally frozen hopelessly folded on sale in
a quaint country store
A couple long seeking
a flawless loving cover
yet one more poor selection
challenged history on it’s
shaking shelf
In the pain and longing
forever’s chill winter night
lay still barely breathing
among the moonlit thistle
under a fear-spattered blanket
of secrets and lies.

The one who says that this is true
Probably does not have a clue
what he intends to talk about
since he doesn’t talk as much as shout.
Louder the voice, head getting red
not taking breaths, but gulps instead
but no one listens, what a shame
he’s pretty sure, he’s not to blame.
His message is strong, so he does think
they will agree and they will shrink
by his sheer presence and his will
still getting louder, almost shrill.
I stand in front, before the stage
and watch him living through his rage
’bout dropping bombs and punishment
kill all the commies in the end.
I watch him closely, ’bout sixty years
and the biggest thing, I think, he fears
is that one day someone’d come around
with arguments that stand their ground.
Which will get him to shut up once for all
cut him to size, until he’s so small
that people will wake up and see
the logic upon which we can agree.
No noise is needed to see clear
no forced opinions causing fear
wise words and true thoughtfulness
being the best defense, no more, no less.