Fear
by Raissa Rivera Falgui

As an infant
the prince feared nothing
except perhaps loud noises
safely ensconced as he was in his golden cradle.

As a small boy
he feared strange people –
the jesters and dwarves in the court,
their peculiar appearance, costumes, and behavior;
their faces seeming to mock him and his father the
king.

As a lad
he feared his strict tutor, his lessons,
failure in archery and riding;
the watchful eyes of the people in the court and the
kingdom,
the ominous hum of their dark whispers about his
father.

As he approached manhood
he feared becoming like his father
whose brow seemed weighed down heavily by his crown;
he feared the gaze of cold hatred by restless people
gathering before the palace
their numbers growing by the day.

He feared for his father.

At his coronation,
he feared the golden crown looming before him--
the responsibility that would weigh as great, if not
greater than his father’s.
He feared sharing the same fate of this king
upon whose death none but him showed grief.
He feared not being able to meet the people's endless
demands
and yet he feared their jeers were he to run away and
refuse the kingly crown.

He feared for himself;
he feared himself fearing;
he feared that he feared himself--

for he feared that he feared fear.