Fear, al-Khwf, pè,
a massive cave so empty
it even lacks darkness

and murders thoughts
before they wean,
indifferent
assassin of freedom.

Jesus sang Be not afraid,
the Spirit encouraged
pale apostles

but these upstart
figures of the Blessed Trinity
did not kill Fear,

His commandments
corpses on the road
up which we limp
to fatten Him
 
on the precious
children He lusts for.
Kouraj, imajinasyon—
where

do their children sleep?
what food do they eat?
An old seer says fearless

people vanish
and walk amidst us
to whisper in our ears
only

at those times when strangers
appear in chilly rain
and roughly ask for

a man's intestine
or that place in a woman
where she prays
for more

love.
Fear laughs drunkenly
and chews and farts more noisily
than he-goats

or slips about in shadows
late at night,
but mothers get used
to Him

eventually
and He will let you hold
your daughter if you promise

never to leave.
When He sleeps,
even dogs are welcome to examine

His penis,
but no one dares
pull a hair from His chin
except tata

who He punched and struck blind
twice,
once on Easter,
once on the day she died.

dark, Tom. and wonderful.

but a little too much was happening
for me.  i will come back and
provide more feedback.

tiko

Thanks for having a look, Tiko. Reading with your reaction in mind, I think a smidge more punctuation might help. Added some. -Tom