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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Losing Nerve

I have lost my nerve,
like a trapeze artist
losing faith in his hands,
in his timing.
A heart losing its belief in love.
What would happen
if stars lost faith in themselves?
Would they go out?
Or grow dim
forgetting their light?

What is this faith,
this juggling of doubt?
Is it the nerve of the blind man
with everything to lose?
The ability to see beauty
in the dark,
the weaving of webs,
the strength of the stone!
I’ve lost my nerve,
I have grown old.
I need to be young,
growing old.
To see from my heart.

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