I do fear.

I do fear.


I fear being forgotten

for having been absent

for having left without impression.


I fear becoming misremembered

as being something I did not intend to be

as being someone better left a memory.


I fear losing sight

of those familiar, callused hands

of that tender, heartening touch

of the reminiscent, cool embrace.


I fear presenting nothing

to those I mean with help provide.


What else is there to fear?


What would teach me gratitude

for this brief existence?


What would guide me in my practice,

align me to my core?


What would impart in me the value of those connections?


What would give purpose to the burdens?


So I will fear.


This poem is about: 


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