In Search of Cure

I just rediscovered this in my poetry file, I can't recall when I wrote it, though I'm pretty sure I never posted it.

The first fact that I think

should be acknowledged

as fact: I have fears.

There, this fact is now

stated, admitted, allowed

to cower before your gaze.

Did you expect a fear

to look more substantial?

Is that why you’re laughing?

Please, please stop,

I know how silly, absurd

it looks to your eyes,

but it has existence,

so give it the dignity

existence is due.

Oh, I will freely admit

my fears are largely

self-made, but made

they are, and being,

need addressing.

Will you hear me?

I reached out, and reached

abscess only, nothing real,

though perhaps you will say

I had but to reach

a little further, a little

left, and there you were,

but I doubt this is true.

I reached, you ran,

taking the gift my hand

once held. I do not

want it back, you were

right, it was for you,

but I had little to start,

and now even less,

am I rude to ask

for some small sign?

That was when my

fear was born,

hand empty, gift

gone, no sound,

no sight, love

left waiting.