Fear to Hope

No, no, I can bear no more—how can you expect me to bear this? When I have borne so much, for so long.

I am broken, I am crumbled away to dust, and nothing remains to carry any burden. This is too great for any one man.

There is too much weakness in me. I have seen too much hate, too much evil, borne too much ill. I weep. And will bear no more.

Find another. Any other. They will do, whilst they can. I am finished, meek and hapless, helpless to affect.

I am among the fallen. I share their tears and writhe in their pain. Righteous fear fills me at the threat of burdens past borne, and many to come.

I shiver, quake and fall further. I have done much and borne more. Do I not deserve a respite? Some rest and safety?

I shiver and am alone.

Yes, I am alone. There is no other. I am all there is.

There will be no rest, no safety. I shall never be free.

Lost are the freedoms of men, to speak, to love. All that remains is the fear and for that there is no end.

Ever.

I am the fear—and I—fear to hope.