In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fright Night.” What’s the thing you’re most scared to do? What would it take to get you to do it?
Although it feels to me that my main fear is fear of death,
I think what I really fear is the loss of breath.
For when I have night panics that drive me bolt upright,
it isn’t so much fear of darkness brought on by the night,
as it is my fear of something cutting off my air.
It is thoughts of smothering that I cannot bear.
The very thing that makes me fight the snorkel mask and rise
above alluring water worlds for a view of skies
(and all the breaths they bring with them–breaths more easily won
when not underwater, but out here in the sun)
is what causes fear of death––that last futile grasp
to hold on to all of life with one final gasp.
Life is so incredible, I don’t want it to end;
for I have no idea at all what’s waiting round the bend.
At times a flash of memory reveals a bygone life
filled with superstition, violence and strife.
If that is what’s in front of me in a new incarnation,
I’d like to miss out on that life and take a small vacation
from all the karma has in store if my next life is worse,
with no time for leisure––no time for blogs or verse––
then oblivion may not be the worst thing that could be.
Perhaps then I could just accept that there will be no me.
Give in to fate and realize I’m just a part of all.
that recycles and recycles–guided by death’s call.