Dreams of Duress

The knife of fear is cold and blunt
upon the tractability of my mourning mind.
Why mourn the bright day
when the night is so much deeper?
I cannot help
but think upon the fluorescing song of light
when sunk beneath the watching waves
of dim steels waxing blight.
The mind paves its way through thought.

I overcame a fear today, which made me think of this poem written years ago. For good and ill, the mind is a powerful thing.