Savory Fear

Everyone has a fear you say?
Foolish rabbit; fear is for prey.
And fear is nothing more than a chew toy.
A play thing that’s worthless and coy.

Fear is the flavor in food that I eat,
The salty-sweat taste to savor my meat…
…Or is it of blood that I speak?
No matter,
For blood is the price of courage so meek.

I am fond of the prey with no valor,
For the flavor lingers long and sour.
As for the morsels that find pride in bravery;
I prefer that they run,
For a rat I can chase is more savory.

You condemn that I’m fearless, that surely it’s untrue,
An illusory chime for my image of might.
Yet soon you will see, oh pitiful shrew;
That I am the shadow which lurks in the night,
Stealing sweet sleep with terror and fright.

A wise hero once confessed;
“The only true fear is true fear itself.”
Take head, burdened mouse,
For I am the fear that he spoke of,
The cold, looming shroud that is choking your breath.
I only do warn you, for your own sorry sake,
That fear is a quick one-way shortcut to death.