Habit

Is the greater fear, new possibility,
or that the same we will remain.
Entrenched in familiarity,
a pawn in our own game.


We hold so fast,
to this sinking ship.
Clamped tightly to its mast,
scanning for the future,
 while stuck firmly in the past.

Anchored to the known,
by fear and delusion
its more potent soft feathered friend,
These stories that we sell ourselves.
Till the telling end..