I Am Afraid

Like the desolate dreams of the poet wandering through the mire of hope, embroidered only by the ideals of those too tired to lie anymore. Like the outstretched arms of the child reaching with great concentration for the comfort and warmth of the wolves. Like a million golden spoons floating in space reflecting the majesty of the stars with only the blind men to witness them. Like the horrible silence punctured by a single meaningful note, so also am I mislead, so also do I reach for what will be the end of me, so also am I unable to witness the beauty of that which surrounds me, and so also am I only able to stumble upon meaning in the smallest of portions, so also am I afraid.