Photo by Francesco Ungaro
There are varying forms of cowardice but it is cowardice just the same / you who do not have light of your own, and so must stand behind the light of others / to subjugate those you do not believe have teeth / assessing weakness where none exist except in yourself, fearful of the truth of the bereavement of such things as confidence, a charter your insecurities would have denied by a comfort of your own restitute.
Why try you ask, why reach for what cannot be obtained / investing insurmountable wealth in staying at earth level and burying any significance, no matter how quaint, you've deemed superior to your own, the chrysalis offered by the heavens frightening / their transformation soiled by your need to ruin / and they keep giving from a reserve you lack, and you give as well your all to shovel the earth upon their accomplishments / until you insipidly accept them as your own / a graveyard of broken angels, their spirit and wings shards within the sand / their vigil mistaken for being on their knees / while they return to that place that you cannot go / a womb which cares not for privilege, nor designed to recognize station / this nursery where pride can easily be seen as strange as freckles are cute / that you have not touched, when you have yet to ask, and it would be offered to you.
What calamity made awful the weight of humility, degrading the Duns cap to dunce upon a more worthy effort than yours. You will deny shame in the grip of your cowardice to give importance to an empty ideal that runs contrary to the blood of men.