Fear

Sometimes,
You find those peculiar eyes,
which dig like a shovel,
piercing their way,
through each molecule,
until they've sought,
your essence,
And then drill and dredge,
until penetrable enough,
to unearth your chiseled self,
that has stayed buried,
'neath the damp sands of forlorn,

Yet, you practice every moment,
for that moment,
when you'll be again left alone,
I wonder if there's a name for that fear!

(c) S.S