To Whom it May Concern

To Whom it May Concern

A fear of being too long in the telling
A worry of being caught short
In panic so calmed, silence lost in the yelling
Right details left off the retorts

Outcomes so smothered by awkward inaction
With opening gambits, moves made
Autopsies performed, too in depth, we lose traction
Both concerns, and false costs overpaid

With hatred, self loathing of what we become
In front of the the face that we yearn
Defective, devolved, errant parts of the sum
In a place where its tough to discern

Where nothing reacts, like it normally should
Where the traffic one way, seems ignored
We aim to respond, as we normally would
Reduced to a child once more

A child alone in an uncertain space
That just moments before felt like home
Till that one in a million, that bright Angel's face
Stepped over the threshold unknown

With wind chimes set spinning, unpinning as such
With bells struck, strong, tolling so true
Sometimes, when some things, just matter too much
… you wonder if they're meant for you

When it's different with literally everyone else
An exception hooked to this one rule
With nothing to fear, but fear itself
… and the burden of being a fool

A fear of shining, a gold Midas touch
We go ante up, call a bluff
A worry you have perhaps done, said too much
… or more simply, not nearly enough