I am not aware of fear.
I flee to seek security but
then, I hesitate. I wait a bit,
to see what is happening. Again,
I am the observer, my eyes trained,
keeping a keen watch while
standing apart from events.
I want to see it all, take it all in.
My encouraging muse commends me,
“Good observer, well done.
Stand steady. Gather details.”
Is it right to push away participation,
to ignore the unfurling tragedy
on this killing field? I am dissuaded
from standing longer. “Run,”
my guide urges in that steady voice,
“Run.” So as not to be overtaken
by the hurtling beams and stones and debris,
we duck into a welcoming dark hole.
must have felt to ancient man,
sturdy walls on all sides,
protection from the frightful,
from the dangerous, from the lethal outside.
For a moment, I can see where we are.
Our sanctuary is a parking garage
offering protection
from the murdering rain.
I tarry again briefly, turning
at our cave mouth to gaze back
once more. It is a boiling
brimstone avalanche
cascading from the tower,
billowing up toward me,
a blaspheming wave,
a tumbling wall of darkness.
It looks as if thousands of horses
and millions of soldiers are stampeding
across a desert, threatening clouds
rise at their hooves and heels,
pushing the frightened air ahead.
Yet in here, I feel secure,
umbrella’d over, protected from the torrent.
Once again I hear, now
from deep inside the cave:
“Run. Run. Run.”
I break my stare and turn away,
no longer do I see the commotion
outside my safe haven.