Conquering the River of Tomorrow

If our fear had a cartoon face,
large eyes like marbles,
a lion’s mane for hair,
and the body of a soft, plush toy snake,
would we run, take cover?
Or would we jump on fear’s back,
hold weathered leather reins in our hands,
take charge of our journey?

The dark, tumultuous river of tomorrow
is not as deep as we think.
There are moss-covered stones,
a slippery softness on the toes,
if we brush past with bold, bare feet
instead of shyness.
The second-guessing self stands on the edge
of the riverbank, imploring us
to slow down, turn back,
seek out shallow waters,
crawl up on grassy, unmoving land.

Once the fear dwindles in size,
becomes almost comical in its outlandish
shape-shifting form,
at once reptile and mammal-mouthed,
our misgivings become barely audible.
Purpose drives us forward.
We float on the river of today
without raft or paddle.
Faith has buoyancy.
We will not sink.