Singling out certain doubts, feeding them and nurturing them and letting them grow in to beanstalks leading into darkness beyond white fluffy clouds that were once full of rain and then the sun came out.
But our journey takes us beyond into the mesmerizing plains of the atmosphere, a canopy of fear guarding our worst failures. And failures to be will emerge as the poetic dream shifts its surge and looks back down to where it came from.
A shifting tarmac of dark golden star tracks. A dreaming deer caught in the headlights of oncoming sunlight. The seething fear of broken down emotions.
The bleeding dear of a loved one's bosom is caused by you, you who pierced it with a stake of molten metal, you who hurt them till their blood turned blue.
Yet it is you who regret and float above the stratosphere, it is you who look about and see with wandering eyes the negative possibilities in the darkness that is so near.
It is you who fear.
It is you who refuse to see the clear light of the stars above your head, now removed from all obstacles in between by your journey of fear that transcended your barriers which were the clouds of rain and sunshine that you did not want to leave.
Your beanstalk has grown and your giant is waiting, it is the sky and the stars are the golden eggs of that chicken like bird that will make you rich and it is yours to grasp and to live and to die. Freedom's limits are literally in the sky.
That is why. You need to look up and cry. For joy, and the pain of leaving what is below, far behind.