Poem: The Slow Death of Fears

The Slow Death of Fears

Fears like old newspapers
left in the rain,
print, headlines, bleached by exposure,
ink leaching away in the rain,
paper becoming brittle, left behind,
a new story begun, the old left behind
to be what it deserves to be:
composte, fuel to feed the new
you.

About this poem

Fears die slowly. It’s worth the wait, worth the work.

Tom

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