Anyway, I’ve got fears of my own
Hidden away in a high tower.
So, I can’t take your worries away
It isn’t as simple as kissing them better.
But if you want my advice, and you’re free to ignore it,
Write it all down in a letter and mail it to Santa
Or burn the letter and put the ashes
In an urn up high on your shelf.
Perhaps this would help. Go stand in the rain
Let the gale howl through you,
Let the weak light of the winter sun decide your truth.
Do whatever you can to hold back the night.
You have to unravel the strings of your happy
From all your other fighting kites
Before taking the first step of the precipice.
© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.