Fearful Heart

His compassion, like an old tree
strangles my sentiments with its
deep branches of vital leaves,
that perhaps are symbols
causing my character to quiver.

I sense a grave mass crumbling,
as I stand on the limits of this world
...perhaps I will fall.

My heart, he says, is too feeble
to strive alone, to beat as one
so I fasten to the shell
and engrave elastic insecurities
that identify no new signs...

because I am fearful
of the truth in his words,
I disbelieve his caring poetry.

by: Rania Moallem