It Is Always There

It is always there.
The fear,
lingering,
waiting on the fringes

for that moment
when you show your humanity
and the tiny crack appears,

a place for fear
to leap into with all the force
of a thousand armies

of Satan, laughing
as they split your carefully constructed walls
into rubble,

and charge into your city
like barbarians,
unable

to do anything
but destroy.

It is always there,
lingering evergreen, like ivy
in a brick wall,

slowly pulling
the mortar from your bricks
a beautiful killer,

a lover that strangles you
in the moments of passion,
intimately aware

of every chink
in your armor.

It is always there,
and there is no defense
beyond breaking down the walls,

and opening yourself to the wind
of God’s inspiration, to give
the fear no hand hold,

no place to climb or kill,
but rather a broad vulnerable plain
where the wind blows it

far, far
away.