The Antidote [sonnet]

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It seems the time has come to lay a wreath;
the spirit of adventure has declined.
The mass of souls takes shelter underneath
high walls deludely built by humankind.
Instead of striding forth without a dam[n]
embracing any challenge in our way
we choose to walk the limping hexagram
and thus reveal our lack of vertebrae.
Yet, long ago I found the antidote
to vacillation’s shrinking violet schemes:
Don’t hesitate to seize dread by the throat
and squeeze hard till you live your wildest dreams.
For only when to fear they have the key
can hesitating souls be truly free.

© Alan Morrison, 2013

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