What We Fear Poem by GORDON GILHULY

o god I wanted to tell him

that his wings were beautiful

we stood there in the furnace of the sun

and they glistened



not as light as the air

they were the air

they were never of the earth

never of this petty world



dreams realized and standing there

powerful as walls breached

as years of emptiness o'er flown



looking back so many years later

I am still not sure whether he wanted me

to tell him that the lustre - of his obsession;

of his sweaty body; of the slow soft fatal



progression of wax across feather -

was more exquisite than living;

was more ugly than death

and so I said nothing - afraid



that my truth was not what he wanted to hear;

that he would turn his back on me and hurl himself

into the air that I would lose him: his beauty.



and now there is you

sonnet-beautiful and singing in my eyes

lovely as fire; bewitching as deep water

we stand here in the coquetry of moonlight



and you glisten in the soft play of night fingers

on your face; in the raven lustre of your hair;

the green questions in your eyes

and so, again, I say nothing - afraid



that my truth is not what you want to hear

that you will turn away and hurl yourself

into the betrayed air that I would lose you: your trust



it is not beauty that we fear

it is the loss of beauty when it is held up

to the light of our confessions