by a future 
in dark cobwebbed corners 
of imagination
and dank musty caverns 
of unfounded worry.
The phantasms 
conjured there
feed on fear of
what may be,
  what could happen,
    what might take place;
and frighten us 
away from 
the beauty
of what is
and the hope
of what will be.
Rise up;
ring boldly 
the bells of becoming
to signal 
to any and all that
“It is me!
I am here!
Nothing and 
no one 
possesses the power
to stop me 
from living
this magnificent mystery
of life!”
step boldly into
what’s next
who you
have yet to be. 


Popular posts from this blog

Persistence is her name (a poem)

Lent: Walk - John 5:1-18

Actively Giving Thanks