Modesty of Fear

staring into air.
i am the model of futility;
seeing the best side is
always missed.

sundays came and went
and I still live in
modesty of fear of
days to come.

there is a secret sound and
i own much; see the sewing behind
curtains,
rods and the reality is not what
you think.

canter and melt-down to bed;
truth is soreness and not getting
to ingrained in
passages and stories of castles
and dreams as it's
in you.