A life lived fully is anything but safe

Why do you fear

the ending, more

than the dull

litany of so many

folds of not

fully engaged,

the progression

telling no story

at all worth

the life worn

so shabby

for a miracle,

and out

of any good use,

across its dreary

avoidance.

Safe

you will

to say,

and still,

trembling, you

are not.

For there's always

a place, whether

climatic or without

event, where

even the dullest

plodding will stop.

And what reach

will your spirit

ever succeed

in grasping without

the risk at hand

and holding it

close to your heart?

To come

to know

that fear is so small

a price to work

a purchase

around which

you can live

a story worth adventuring

through whatever end.

Can there be

a growth beyond

what spans any

one lifetime?

An expansion

of spirit and

heart to take

larger aims

at the life

that greater needs

have called out

to those who make

the grander choices

possible by

what they've grown

to feel is their's,

and a chance

that is what they

live more for?

Those are

the hearts and souls

who trade

shorter journeys

for greater stories

that might

encourage others

to make that leap.

Knowing fear's embrace

will always hold

whether you jump

the folds or

the folds jump

on top of you.

Better a bold

short story

than a boring

durge without end