A Poet's Dictionary

Past

If fear had a voice... It would look me in the eyes and laugh. It's large figure would tower over my visibly smaller frame.

   Then in the blink of an eye, I'd see the scene shift.

    I stand in a courtroom shivering and hyperventilating. In an attempt to catch my breath I close my eyes and try to erase myself. However, I end up in the same spot when I come back.

    I looked around I saw that fear not be the judge. He was merely a bystander, a member of the jury.

    Then the judge, was kismet herself. I looked down at her hands they were bony and long. I saw strings, dozens of strings attached to the tips of her fingers and one that trailed behind me. I followed it. To the back of my neck. I tried to pull it free, but to no avail. So, I accepted the fact that I was being commanded by fate.

    Then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It wasn't menacing, but comforting in a way. I look up at its face and see someone on my side. I see the face of truth and feel it's sweet relief. Because I know they'll speak nothing false to help me walk out of that room safe, and free.

That was the day I learned that there was not one, not two, but three sides to a story.