That dread we cloak behind broad daylight’s veil,
Which if revealed to us would turn us pale,
And yet at night erupts within our dreams,
From some unconscious crypt or cavern streams.
It will not keep pent up or wear disguise,
And we eventually must realize
The full catastrophe we can’t yet face,
For only from acceptance follows grace.
But still such resolution won’t come soon
As consolation is a blesséd boon
That ripens in its own mysterious time
Arising from the depths of the sublime.
Meanwhile we dwell in this insidious fear
And pray for our dull consciousness to clear.