Paper Trail

Please, may I have your attention
for if I scream while you talk
I may have to yell,
and f I think while I’m yelling
my secrets could be told.
Then I would drift
across the great expanse of time
like shards of wrapping paper
once the party is done.
For I am just a series of events
like the random sparkling
of the diamond stars in the sky
tracing the constellations so bright...
I am, by nature,
fearful of the world I live in.
I live with the idea
that tomorrow is a constant
I am never by-the-moment.
Dreaming my days away
I hide within my shell until night...
If I trip when walking
then I may cease to walk,
and if I wall when dancing
then I may never dance at all.
Living is barely living
when I fear to take a chance.
So if I fail while I am existing
may I then fail to exist?
And with my task completed –
if my story has been told –
then who is to say I would not vanish
with the rising of the sun?
Who is to say I would not burn,
ignite from the passion
of my own aching heart?
Then why dream I couldn’t live
once my war has been won
if there’s no point in living
once my will to fight has gone?