Faithless; Not Fearless
It's not quiet enough out here.
There is beauty in the trees but
I can't seem to find peace
in my soul.
The music sings, but does she?
Everything breathes life around me:
a gentle breeze whispering serenity,
leaves dancing while birds chant their melodies
ever so softly.
Blades of grass trembling while
the sun speaks to a trickling creek, glistening.
If I sit still enough, for just a few moments as least,
through the wood of the park bench,
I can even feel a subtle throbbing of a heart beat.
The flow of electrons surrounding my body
should force me to feel instinctively alive;
but I'm stone inside.
Paralyzed by fear of losing everything.
Stiffened by self-doubt; silenced by worry.
It's not that I feel I've worked so hard to get to
where I need to be; quite the contrary.
In fact, it's the fear that I haven't given everything in me
to make this work.
It's being on the brink of something beautiful,
something achievable,
and losing the race of that swinging pendulum.
I'm terrified that I'll let go.
That everything I've dreamt up
will sink and fade and bury my hope.
I love too strongly.
My infatuation: debilitating.
My passion is a weapon that will
ultimately end me.
But if I can't make use of my time the way
I was designed to do so,
what's the point in living?
what is my purpose for breathing?
I don't want to feel emptiness.
I don't want to yield resistance.
I can't let the world kill me this way.
She's afraid of public speaking.
He's afraid of rejection.
She's scared of insanity
and it's not perfection he seeks,
but the chance of things never
getting better that he's afraid to see.
So how do we improve things?
How do we think differently
to divert our minds from absurdity?
If we reject our fears and
take back the steering wheel,
will we be able to sing to our family
from the passenger seat?
will we be proud to speak our thoughts
and communicate effectively?
or will we break?
will we lose faith in everything
we were bound to create?
My worst fear is falling.
Falling from heights so high
that my heart collapses and I
lose sight of everything
I set myself up to be.
I'm petrified to the core-
freezing the marrow of my bones-
that I'll always be just two
steps out of reach.
My dreams of flying are reoccurring
in my conscious and in my sleep.
I'm terrified to lose those wings.
But, I guess when you've reached the bottom
there is nowhere to go but up?
At least, that's what they tell us.
But I was taught differently.
I was told to question everything.
But it seems that maybe my questioning
is becoming a mere disability,
because I have found no greater contradiction
than faithfulness and intimidation.
There is beauty in the trees but
I can't seem to find peace
in my soul.
The music sings, but does she?
Everything breathes life around me:
a gentle breeze whispering serenity,
leaves dancing while birds chant their melodies
ever so softly.
Blades of grass trembling while
the sun speaks to a trickling creek, glistening.
If I sit still enough, for just a few moments as least,
through the wood of the park bench,
I can even feel a subtle throbbing of a heart beat.
The flow of electrons surrounding my body
should force me to feel instinctively alive;
but I'm stone inside.
Paralyzed by fear of losing everything.
Stiffened by self-doubt; silenced by worry.
It's not that I feel I've worked so hard to get to
where I need to be; quite the contrary.
In fact, it's the fear that I haven't given everything in me
to make this work.
It's being on the brink of something beautiful,
something achievable,
and losing the race of that swinging pendulum.
I'm terrified that I'll let go.
That everything I've dreamt up
will sink and fade and bury my hope.
I love too strongly.
My infatuation: debilitating.
My passion is a weapon that will
ultimately end me.
But if I can't make use of my time the way
I was designed to do so,
what's the point in living?
what is my purpose for breathing?
I don't want to feel emptiness.
I don't want to yield resistance.
I can't let the world kill me this way.
She's afraid of public speaking.
He's afraid of rejection.
She's scared of insanity
and it's not perfection he seeks,
but the chance of things never
getting better that he's afraid to see.
So how do we improve things?
How do we think differently
to divert our minds from absurdity?
If we reject our fears and
take back the steering wheel,
will we be able to sing to our family
from the passenger seat?
will we be proud to speak our thoughts
and communicate effectively?
or will we break?
will we lose faith in everything
we were bound to create?
My worst fear is falling.
Falling from heights so high
that my heart collapses and I
lose sight of everything
I set myself up to be.
I'm petrified to the core-
freezing the marrow of my bones-
that I'll always be just two
steps out of reach.
My dreams of flying are reoccurring
in my conscious and in my sleep.
I'm terrified to lose those wings.
But, I guess when you've reached the bottom
there is nowhere to go but up?
At least, that's what they tell us.
But I was taught differently.
I was told to question everything.
But it seems that maybe my questioning
is becoming a mere disability,
because I have found no greater contradiction
than faithfulness and intimidation.