Fear of the Unknown

Almost hidden by the golden leaves,
Grinning obscenely,
Holding no emotions back
On his white slab of a face.
Silver dollar eyes
Twinkling in spite of the shrouding darkness
Longing and fear and hate and love,
Years beyond count showing
Fogs of war
Arcs of pain
Clouds of suffering
Eons? Centuries? Years? Days?
Time must have no concept. Why?
Hate hath none, either.
And this moon's border?
Tangles of hair rather than planets
Weather worn locks of brown
Ash-smudged, not
Not star-smeared or spattered with
Travelling fiery wishes of the heart
Hanging willessly
Ever irreplacable
Rope of the hangman;
Eye of the shooter;
Form of the hunter:
Lost means incomplete
Ever broken mirror or
Crippled puzzle
To have no rope the hangman's but a man
Is the same true to us as well?
Obvious is the answer to he who
Never asks the question.
Of course to never ask is to
Fear the unknown. So he never
Throats his queries. He enjoys fear.
His ruby red lips stay closed. They are
Eerily slicked crimson.
With what? we wonder.
Every person questions fear
Starting the moment they are born
The empty clost becomes
Every night a room full of terrors
Reminding of things parst and things to come.
Imagination is a curse.
Now still is the moon face staring back at me through the
Glass. Is it of my fevered mind? Or a
Man of flesh and blood and bone?
Obliviously ready to fulfill my nightmares.
Oh, fear of the unknown is bliss.
Now that realization of fear is terror.