POEM - My Fear

Worse than any fear of death,
am I a closet malcontent?
Draped with purple gratitude,
brim full of false platitudes?
I am almost chic-ly closed
when opened is what I know.
Wanting never makes it so -
my heart divines what it needs to grow
like the winter wheat resown.

I am cancer and consume the blame
an emissary of god's own shame.

MB 2004