My Proper Fear

I have no fear of
those who wield worlds of
war, wealth and stealth.  It’s
the robins I fear, who
sing the world silly guarding
their nests; who
drop egg-blue bombs that
leak a beauty so
pregnant with praise that
the trees bow in obeisance.

 

I fear the dandelions, those dents-de-lion whose
teeth steel the sun as their
eyes track my every pilfering of
their lair.  I fear for
my presence on this fierce earth,
which marks my ways and will
demand of me an accounting
for what I have done with
cardinal’s cues.

 

But I do not fear you, dear reader, nor
do I fear my
breath portending death – that
distillation of life and perfect love,
casting out every fear.

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10 thoughts on “My Proper Fear

  1. Mary Irene says:

    Exquisite ❤

  2. diannegray says:

    Beautiful, Allen xxxx

  3. shoreacres says:

    I’ve pondered this one since you posted it, and I’m still puzzling over it. It’s just so hard for me to imagine fearing robins or dandelions! Beyond that, you say you don’t fear “those who wield worlds of war, wealth and stealth,” but you also say you don’t fear us, your readers. Are we, then, among those who wield war — in one way or another?

    When it comes to poetry, of course, puzzling can be as satisfying as pretty. I’m going to puzzle over this one for a while longer, I suspect.

  4. Vice says:

    Fear not, rejoice

  5. “this fierce earth which marks my ways”. Amen.

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