Waiting for you, Waiting for me,
Decide what it is that bellows below.
It is not hunger, nor is it hate,
Neither malice or depression.
But cowardice, that beast,
The one we fear least,
The beast that only feeds on great minds,
What a waste, what a sport,
For those heroes accept the challenege.
Wise, smart, and prudent: Men and women:
Growing and Grown: Written and Spoken.
They each have their weapon, their shield,
For those great minds who do overcome,
Plant the beast behind them to rot.
Fertilizer for the garden of ideas.
Bring it beast,
Belt your booming voice,
Bolster your claws,
Blacken your thoughts,
But I fear,
I fear a feeling,
That feeling flounders my fortitude,
I feel, no eyes on me.