There is an ache when finally facing  
your deepest fears, gently setting them
in a safe corner, carrying on in opposition
to their desperate plea for you to continue only the familiar,
well worn path, the one you are determined
to step away from in order to become a rock star.

Early afternoon is hardest, when the sun angles in,
and the long evening is just around the bend,
when you must keep walking this new way
at a time when it would be so easy to give up,
fold into old habits, pat your dreams on the head,
set them on the shelf and act like there never was a higher notion.

Sadness is knowing that if those dreams are set aside,
you can't properly go back to an old path; the possibilities would become
ghosts that weave a whisper through every decision you make,
even to stir the potatoes lest they stick.

There you'd be at the stove, your arm swirling in deference to the mundane,
your heart aching in the never-knowing if it would
have been better, if you might have flown.
And even rock stars stir potatoes in between.

Accepting the difficult truth, you walk
straight into the path of perceived risk, a single tear,
the sign of courageous determination, sliding
down your cheek, falling from your face,
a soft breeze cooling your wet skin as you hold on tight
through the turbulence of takeoff, and look forward to the day
you just might soar.

This is a revision of a poem I wrote last year. I've been revising many poems and felt inclined to repost this one. Please excuse the odd formatting in the fourth section.