My Golden Fist. Poem by Sandra jacks

If fear held me back,
all the things that i do,
if fear held me back,
all my voyages through,
if it stared me in the face,
and my knees shook with fear,
then i would be someone else,
certainly not me.

On a black carpet,
i would stand,
and my finale,
would be grand,
and i'd of,
held the hand,
of fear,
all my life,
through.

I'd be on one knee,
people beaconing me,
wishing not,
to hear my plea,
for i am,
not you.

I'd sit on the stool,
with one golden fist,
and my fist would break,
turning into my wrist,
and my wrist would be nothing,
but paper,
and it could be shredded through,
if my heart had held fear,
since i faced it,
with my golden fist.