That chill along the spine that freezes the blood
Those thoughts that race and the hands that shake
The adrenaline that rushes the veins like a flood
The voice that whispers of more than you can take

Tell me that you do not know the taste of Fear,
and I will show the world a liar or a fool
Flay your soul layer by layer until it is clear
it is an act of discovery, even if it seems cruel

Fear is not shameful, nor does it make a coward
It can spur you to action, or hold you in place
It is your choice if you break or fall downward
and even then it is only yourself you must face

It is always your decision, a tool or a weight
Even in the midst of fear there is a choice
Fight or flee, only you can choose your fate
Even as the Fear clutches you, find your voice

Grip my dead heart, oh Fear, for I choose to sing

Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 4th of Celes, in the year 16 AC.