Reading Poetry

I want so desperately to cry out in aguish,
but I cannot.
I wish to sleep,
but only nightmares await me.

That Great Unknown is upon me again.
I feel its unbearable presence.

I shall sit and watch the darkness,
and the cold and the stillness,
until it turns to light
and all reawakens.

All, except my heart, that is.

Then I will rise.
Not like the Phoenix.
Not from the ashes of a fire
that never burned.

No, instead I rise
like a corpse from the grave,
solemn and gray,
dragging my useless body
along the paths of the world.

Drudging along,
waiting for another heartache,
and another improper burial ceremony.

Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live.