Fear of Love

There is rust.
Parts are broken.
Glass, the lens you see through,
is shattered.

Trees grow around you.
Weeds grow within.
Your age is showing,
and worse, the wear,

the evidence of time and collisions,
and even more, neglect.
And now that the restoration has begun,
you live in fear
that you are too broken to roar again.

But you move forward nevertheless,
for the fear of remaining here
forever
is far worse.

About this poem

Many of us have been there. A marriage, a relationship that matters, comes undone, painfully. Opening ourselves again to possibility after the brokeness is hard. It is scary.

But the alternative is worse.

Tom