The Object of His Fear

He came from the shadows of my fears, The ones that taunt me through the sombre cave. They wait on the edge of the blade that cuts through the light. At once, when sight leaves my memory, They creep through the shades of black to haunt my fickle bravery. He came one night, cut back the darkness, brought with him the light. But it was not his light alone that fought these fears. For in the quick of his eye, I saw his own. His fears he kept with him, he did not banish them like he did the others. In the quick of his eye, I saw the fear that taunted him. Relentlessly. Like a cat a dead mouse. The fear that guided his sword, The fear that cut through the light, The fear that was fierce and conquered other fears, The fear that lived, The fear that breathed through a man, The Fear that controlled, The Fear that was. The Fear that is. The Fear that he himself had. His own fear.