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Fear 3



The world has no fear in it,
except in a few of its living things.
For them, of course, it is paramount.
Life likes to cite love
as its motive force, as its defining trait,
but it isn't:  it's fear.
To fear—to be fear—in a world without fear
is weird.  We are of the world, but always apart
as fear provokes us to react, to move,
to strive, to hedge, to conquer, to surrender.
Everything felt is built on fear.
We acquire to calm it and relinquish to appease it.
To live is to be afraid,
to be afraid, even, to live.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.