There are two spirits of great power and import
That swirl around this world and devote
Their power to making those predisposed,
Like you and me, see the negative colors
Supposed to remain unpercepted by the human eye
Everyone's favorite, the unlife of the party,
Is the world-renowned prophet of chaos
Uncertainty.
This superstar of the supernatural
Is the one responsible for those "maybes"
And "could-bes" and "who-is-its" the go bump in the night
Sending your grasp on the now slipping away with cold sweat
And derailing the train of your thought
Into the side of the mountain of anxiety
Where there will be no survivors.
Uncertainty is the one who,
With a flick of his wrist,
Silences all of your cocksure assumptions
About whether you can make it happen
Be it work, or art, or even long-standing
Visions of the future you crafted so caringly
In your little toy workshop as a child
Painstakingly practicing your tricks and trades
To get to the place you thought you belong, but are now
Uncertain.
He gets his kicks hearing you say his name,
And he'll dance around and perform for those around you
A circus monkey collecting tips in exchange
For stealing your peace of mind.
The lesser-known brother is the one you should watch out for.
Uncertainty has a name, and you can always tell when he's near.
The greater of the brothers, his reach seemingly outmatched
By his younger brother with the flashy black robes,
Is the specter of Knowing.
He's silent, he waits, he sometimes makes you wonder
If he has even visited you at all.
He tugs on your heartstrings, and weaves your thoughts together
Until you are certain you can't go on, or that you
Could never be as talented as your fellow man,
So why does it even matter to go on anymore?
This wretched soul can take
The foundation for a solid tower of effort
To better the self and reduce it to dust
With nothing more than a whisper
Of a reminder that you don't have access
To the same resources of someone better
And that your luck won't carry you forever;
Oh, by the way, your lottery ticket was
One number off, but at least you won yesterday
And you should be able to sleep better, right?
Because you had the right stuff once upon a time,
But now you know better.
The worst part of dealing with Knowing
Is the fact that he isn't trying to harm you at all
In fact, in his own way, he just wants to help
And you can't be mad at him for that.
The poor boy just wishes he could hold you
While he crumbles the walls of your inner peace.
- An original poem by Zach Ryan
