It will be fine, I am sure.

It will be fine, I am sure.

The door is open

But only the tiniest of cracks

Through which

The outside world

Can be glimpsed

As an honest smile

On the face of the sun

A soft green meadow

As mellow as a Sunday

In summer

Or the grimace

Of a sad clown

Squirting crocodile tears

As the greasepaint runs

And he becomes a monster

Of infinite disguise

They are equal possibilities

Both exist

One alongside the other

Until the moment

Of difference

When a door is closed

Or flung wide

A step in

A step out

A change in circumstance

The madness of hesitation

Nothing is written

Unless it is hidden

Within the small print

Nothing is decided

Until time is come

And is then gone

Make a mark

Before the ink runs dry

Take a breath

Stand

Beneath the vast blue sky

Wait as the world

Opens up before you

And then

With purposeful intent

Step through.