The Sonnet Stopper

I haven’t given up yet,

or turned aside with

self soothing excuses.

The doing of things

is still fresh and

the bumps haven’t

stubbed my toes. 

The stoppers aren’t

plugging my mind or

holding back the energy.

So I’m stepping lightly

until...  what? 

If I know the bumps may come

and the stubbed toes may yet

remind me of failure with

their angry rebukes, 

what keeps me going anyway?

Is it the illusion of hope,

or the blindness of now?

If you figure it out

let me know and

I will write you a sonnet in thanks.