The Milksop’s Ache

I stand at the door with goose pimples and a chill
Eyes darting back and forth, but feet planted still
Breathe in with a quiver and out with a quake
Debate if I should turn back, try again when I wake

The clouds all above may have tumultuous will
The birds may all have bloodlust with shrieks ever shrill
The air may be poison and the plants may be fake
I’ve been told not to snoop for curiosity’s sake

So I lift my foot to step back from the sill
I believe I am freed from these fears until
A breeze or a twitch knock my balance to break
Into the unknown, these first steps I take

Then ecstasy, awe… In short, I’m fulfilled
I did not succumb to the Milksop’s Ache





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Photo by Artur Rutkowski on Unsplash