hope is the most frightening thing of all.
scarier than hopelessness, it gets your guts
all twisted up into a ball
of glorious anticipation
and you pine and you yearn
and you stretch and you reach
and your fingers brush greatness
while terror gnaws at you
with its filed-down teeth.
so you pull in your hands
and fold down your arms
hug your knees to your chest
and sway back and forth
in self-soothing alarm.
yes, it’s panic that calms you
so used to its siren song
have you become that
distress is habitual –
it’s faith that feels wrong.

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