Sonnet to Fear

To have terror that lives in inward soul
Is a thing not much required these days
To ever have pain is not a great goal
The putting on of those foolish displays
To ever have feelings out on the sleeve
Make all feel bad by your bellicose cry
It never occurred to give you reprieve
For your way will go on until you die
And when you stalk those with fine good intent
And make your oft calls to complain and whine
You will discover not all things were meant
For you and your scurrilous thinking to dine
Fear mongers always will lose in the end
Those that hold friendship will ever transcend

©1/8/2013 by George W. Collett