Some disagree, but doubt is anything but honest.
Honesty is kind, with soft feathers and
Doubt is a bone twister,
a body gripper that bounds muscles.
Honesty is a graceful night moon pouring
star flavored wine
over sense and vision.
I sip it.
I soak it through my layers, letting
it moisturize my dry husk.
Doubt is a dry fighter, black robed,
fist packed. It tugs. It pulls
ideas and shoves misgivings.
Doubt is a thundering cloud,
pounding immediacy under
We don’t move.
We don’t know movement in doubt.
We struggle to stand. We are children, wary
We make cliffs out of green hillsides,
yellow, wispy flowers become the attackers.
We are the attacked.