I am afraid of stepping in the sand.
                                       For I am afraid of the mark I will leave.

                                    I am uncertain of the imprint I will make.
                                      And I am afraid of what it would mean.
                                                           ­  Perhaps,
                                         It will be small and insignificant.
                                                Ju­st a pathetic footprint,
                                     That the wind will blow away with time.

                                                          ­ Forgotten.
                                                      ­        Erased.
                                                 ­     Never to have been.
                                            
              ­                            I am afraid of disturbing the sand.
                                           Thousands of tiny rocks, moved
                                                           ­    By me.
                                           What if move them the wrong way?
                                               Is there even room for me,
                                            Amongst the sea of small stones?
                                                         ­         Or,
                                           What if I take my first step and fall?
                                           Thats not the mark I want to leave.
                                        Thats not how I want to be remembered.
                                          

         ­                                 Someday, I will have to take that step.
                                            Afterall, we all must move forward.
                                                But I dread the day I must go,
                                               And venture out into the desert,
                                                         ­  For I am afraid.
                                      

                                                 What if the sand is too hot?
                                                Perhaps, it will burn my toes.
                                                      What if I’m too weak?
                                                  
        ­                                      What if I go the wrong way?
                                                  And my footprint points,
                                                   in the wrong direction?
                                          What if others will follow my steps?
                                                          ­ If I was lost,
                                         I wouldn’t want them to be lost too.
                                                      

    ­                                                      It takes thought,
                                          How will I step on this sand of time?

                                                          ­Will I tiptoe on,
                                                            C­autiously,
                                                   Just enjoying the walk,
                                                        And­ be at peace
                                             Knowing my steps won’t last?
                                                           ­        Or,
                                             Should I jump, at the risk of falling?
                                       And engrave a mark that the world will feel
                                                And keep for years to come,
                                              Like the fossils in a museum?


                                                       ­    Either way,
                                                       I will still be afraid.