The Mad Monk
A Study of Fear as Addiction
As children, we fear nothing; such chains have not yet
Been set upon our hearts.
We bathe in the purest light
Of innocence, and dream in lucid color.
But as we grow older, our eyes grow dimmer, and we
Are poisoned by fear; bowing our humble heads before
We are taught that fear is love, respect. But fear
Breeds nothing but addiction; Craving for its dark,
My life is a battle against this fear,
This torturous obsession. I refuse my dose of lies,
And taste the pain of freeing truth from the
Dungeons in my mind.
Does this mean that I lie awake at night
Curled tight into a ball? Gnawing my lips
To blood and spit, clawing at the veins of my soul?
The timorous child at the mother’s poison breast?
It is true. These are the tricks the mind plays;
The slave has no concept of freedom, as the
Blind have no concept of light…
There is no escape from the shadow.
And, yes, it may well come to pass
That fear shall haunt my every breath
That fear shall escort me to death,
Like each of this forsaken race-
But if in that final hour,
That prelude to eternal sleep,
I summon a lifetime of wasted courage
To coldly stare into that face
With the fearless, sober
Then, from this world,
I shall depart
The Mad Monk