Little Fears

I too have little fears.
The monument of life
Is hard to build,
Fingers searching for hand holes,
Get frustrated by the smoothness.
There is little to grip,
Little to hang on to,
When the weather of Fortune
Has turn out so bad.
We all start out at the base camp,
Some people call it a womb.
There we experience exposure.
The first shocks of the living
Is that smack,
And then the harsh rush of air
And the filling of lungs,
And the gasp of breath begins.
Some call it the womb, some home.
The first lesson is dependency.
The second, unconditional love.
Know these truths and life is easier.
Live by them and life is good.
We have only each other and love.
Some never leave the base camp,
So their hand never leaves the glove.

©2019 Christopher Thompson
all rights reserved
Little Fears

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