Deepest Fear

It is with neither bravado nor flippancy  
that I say to you
I am unafraid of mortality
having held Death in a lover’s embrace
only to discard her dissatisfied to the floor
when she was mine for the taking

No, it is Life, her fairer sister that chills me  
to my mortal core –  
not in our daily chase
but rather in the nagging, tragic
measure
of misspent years

Endless climbing, diurnal striving
has left me consumed yet unsated
by the promised feast of success
wolfed to its bones

Now I stir and rouse to this
autumnal urgency
a sleepwalker now distressed
by all those seasons
squandered
left vacant wondering

What enduring harvest shall I reap
ahead of winter’s stark verity