Anew

We, as we are unaccustomed to courage
have become used to holding ourselves in,
hiding behind all that is familiar,
burrowing into our own small comforts.

We collect and hoard away all that we are,
letting the weeds creep in, the dust pile up.
Trapped beneath all that we call our own;
hiding under the things we choose to show.

Change can never settle within the dust
that we leave lying in familiarity.
Happiness can't be found in the attic,
nor will it be found in boxes or trunks
stashed away in the basement or tool shed.
Happiness cannot be tricked into coming
to visit, or held hostage at gunpoint.

Fear is not acceptable, discomfort
is never an excuse to hide away.
For we avoid the struggle we all need,
the struggle that will stir up all we know.

Now happiness must be found once again,
he ran away, he's lost among the rubble.
Today I have begun again, my search--
Clearing out the dust, opening the door.