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Sonnet No. 7
I die a little bit each day—and each
Day slightly more—and so I chase what chance
I have to learn what I am for. I dance
Away unfounded fears, and yet, it seems,
I think, that I'm still failing to succeed
In making them all sink. If I should glance
Across the room, and, seeing one, advance,
Forgoing fear of fear itself, I'd feel
Its circumstance. I'd understand each thing
I've done—I'd understand them all, but fear
Of fear itself, I fear, does haunt until
The fall. For every thing to which I cling,
My fears wear down my will. To hold them near
Is fatal—yes—but I will hold them still.
© Emilia Perseo Samuel Gaspar
#sonnet
Day slightly more—and so I chase what chance
I have to learn what I am for. I dance
Away unfounded fears, and yet, it seems,
I think, that I'm still failing to succeed
In making them all sink. If I should glance
Across the room, and, seeing one, advance,
Forgoing fear of fear itself, I'd feel
Its circumstance. I'd understand each thing
I've done—I'd understand them all, but fear
Of fear itself, I fear, does haunt until
The fall. For every thing to which I cling,
My fears wear down my will. To hold them near
Is fatal—yes—but I will hold them still.
© Emilia Perseo Samuel Gaspar
#sonnet
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