There will be days
That you will shiver
And you will shake
And fear will blossom in the pit of your stomach
And in your wrists
Like a dark violet and mustard yellow flower,
That reeks of rotting flesh.

And it will wrap it's creeping, crawling vines around you,
And you will know true terror,
And, for what it's worth,
It will root from losing someone
In one way or another.

The hardest thing you will have to do
Will be saying goodbye
And still holding onto hope.

And you will grow to be a cynic,
And you will be filled with passive hatred,
For the fact that you had no choice
In what you would become--

But there will be light,
And there will be laughter,
And sometimes,
You will forget about that wilting flower.

Your hands will shake
With excitement or with fear,
But either way you must keep pressing forward.

And press forward you will.

For the fear and it's weeds
Are not reasons that excuse your faltering,
And moving forward for that chance
At a glimpse of a blissful smile
Is reason enough to keep going.