What I Fear

What I fear is that I’ll never appreciate the work I showed.
That I will come to hate the things I own

What I fear is that I’ll never amount to the things I've sown.
Scattering my fragmented plants that I’ve grown.

What I fear is that I’ll end up like my father with his words.
That my writings will be seen as radical and absurd.

What I fear, the most of all, is that I’ll fall when I die
That everything I have done will haunt my afterlife

And when the time comes, I’ll smile with glee
Knowing that someone, anyone, will remember me