“I’m an old man now. I’ve lived a long and difficult life
filled with so many misfortunes,
most of which never happened.”

~ Mark Twain

Tears flow effortlessly these days;
drops of what ifs
and beleaguered whys
saturate a disconsolate heart.
It’s always dusk,
pining for the lazy moon,
afraid to sleep,
mourning in dread
of morning missed.
Slender hopes
for finer futures,
desperate beliefs
drenched in monsoons of loss.

and then what”

A toxic phrase with no exit strategy,
the consummate axiom of self sabotage;
only hypothetical possibilities,
and probabilities.
mostly predicated on the unknown,
another world
of lost hope.

conspicuous in its absence
removed from this moment,
empowering events
that have not occurred,
and likely may never.

we are always left with;
and what will we do with

Life is not getting the perfect hand
but learning,
yes learning,
by trial and error,
how to play
the hand we’re dealt.

The opposite of love is not hate,
it’s fear,
fear paralyses love
it closes,
if we let it,

whereas love,
yes love,
opens the door

Copyright © Henri Ferguson 2016

Author Notes
We invest endless, futile energy into speculating about what the future may hold for us, all the while spiraling downward into a vicious vortex of fear. Invariably we fall prey to the perceptual narrowing that prevents us from seeing the exit door in front of us in the proverbial house on fire. It is precisely at these moments that our angels step in to guide us across the threshold to love, where rubber meets the road, and we find traction to move. Once again behind the wheel, in our movement forward we finally understand with clarity that fear is a liar.