Risk

What is it to see,
but never emerge from the dark?

Children marvel at color,
movement,
perception,
not knowing
control mongers await them,
famished gluttons who relish
evolving adults obviating consciousness.

Some chance pain
while too few discover
healing is not a poultice
to cover a wound,
but an ear drum,
an eyelid to remedy contrived storms
man-made blasts of empty oxygen
programmed to destroy
observation's eloquent gift,
the always present
sense of truth... or not.

Risk awaits,
perhaps muddied,
but nevertheless
always at the ready,
actuality's hardened muscles
ready to serve,
to discern platitudes from profundity.

How courageous
this willingness to risk,
knowing to cower
is to embrace that safe place,
ignorance's wanton indulgence,
an anesthetized existence
for what?