My doubt makes me a eunuch to my will
Whereas I once was certain of the path,
A few facts pointed clearly, now the mill
Of new mown truths is flat and hides the swath.
With understanding's slow and careful growth
My confidence is sapped and knowledge bled
Of ichor. Now my path towards the both
Becomes less clear as fear and misdoubt wed.
The things that should encourage dance about
And mock me with their fleeing backs at last.
No longer sure of outcomes as the rout
Of present whims make questions of the past.
So should I give in to this tide of fear
Or, pressing on, instead gain something dear?