I fear one day, happy I will wake up.
No longer full of angst and despair
as I sipped from a forbidden gold cup
filled with laughter, smiles and her prayers.

Food for thoughts are my new trepidations,
her soured apple, please let me just rot
as I’m full of fraught without agitation
my chickenheartedness can’t be bought.

I fear happiness while being content ~
my wicked storm ~ the qualm before the calm,
a thunderous clap that heaven hath sent,
a false prophet singing lyrical Psalms.

Yet despite my consternation
I awake each morning in awe.

Contributor’s note: For May 1st, 2014, I went a little old-school, circa 2012, to find the prompt for National Poetry Writing Month, a poem that should start with I fear…