Fear is not panic,
though they are close relatives.
Panic, the short jolt of instinct,
which compels us in its chemistry,
to gain control of our situation.
To fight or fly.
And ultimately quell the aching it leaves us,
an end to the intensity of its torment.
Fear, simply, is that feeling in longer form,
A gradual uncertainty, the knowledge that
the ground you stand upon
is no longer secure.
It pushes, more gently than panic,
to somewhere new, and whispers in your ear:
You cannot stay here.
And makes you an exile
to the person you just were.
Because you cannot make a home out of yourself,
you cannot stand still.
So unguided by anything seen, the fear urges you on, towards
the horizon,
and ever on to more ambiguities.
