Generation Fear

A poem
by Chris Hibbard

Generation Fear

Stripped trees entertaining dangling leaves
On a chilly winter morn
Inside the house atop the hill
A baby boy is born
And later than the winter next
In the same house on the hill
He’s not crawling, not walking
Just lying there so still

Three years pass quick and he not lifts
a limb, a muscle, a finger
Afraid to face the world outside
Even in his room he merely lingers

Though he has never tried to move around
Or speak a word or two
Somehow he knows to fear the world
Somehow when he was born – he knew

So for his life, he just doesn’t try
To talk or to walk or to think
This boy would rather never set sail at all
Then set asea to sink

~ by chris hibbard on November 19, 2008.