my thoughts; fear of the dreaded 'never'

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always lurking nearby
amidst the corners
hiding among the walls
as though phoenix
has a new form,
just that this one's
meant to be phoenix,
rising from the ashes;
only that the ashes
were never real
and the fire never
really burnt too well

fear is the key
to the phoenix,
for it never really
goes away;
its only hiding
and lurking in
the shadows of us,
and once it sees
the road clear
it rises it ugly head

fear, ah yes!
what else but fear
can this be called,
in which one tires
down the road
with new zeal, only 
to find a blockade
or two in the middle,
past which the way
can be got only after
scathing through their
sharp edges and bruising
self, and the bruises
to be let out in the
open of the road and
the blowing wind 
to ease its scratches
and sooth the pain,
only to be bruised
... again... again?

the constant fear of
'never' poses this
risk of everything
turning into nothing
every now and then,
only to be lapped
back in everything
to be able to survive
again this dread
of the turning nothing.
one moment black
the very other white,
as though there's
no parallel to this
on-going phase

of  'never' attaining
that has been wished,
trails along with
every such dread.
of 'losing' all that
has been built,
subsides along
with every such
walking-yet-
trampled foot;
which wishes to
run and jump,
and does so...
but alas! only
on the path
full with thorns,
so that the oozing
blood reminds
every now and then
of the constant
fear, and hence
the foot may never
wish to jump or
run...
but the foot does,
coz it knows not
to stay aloof
from what's
natural to it,
only that the path
will never allow it
to do, any more
freely...