Sitting, bowed diffidently,
in the seat
of an idling car.

Leaning against the shadowed wall,
looking out at the brazen clamor
of a dance.

Imprisoned, motionless,
seized by the onyx manacles
of worry.

A ceaselessly unfurling
newsreel of
‘What If’s

The chill insidious
venom of
black anxiety suffuses
your mind

But then,
in its recesses,
something stirs.

Small, timorous, but
blossoming
onward

You extend a quavering hand
to the handle of the car door.

Detach yourself from the
cold plaster of the
Dance Hall wall

And step into the
effulgence
of new experience