against the dying of the light

and pressed fast to the hungry,
sweeping night
there are two kinds of courage--

there are those who accept gently
with goodwill and grace,
who forgive the unfair
fickleness of fate
and keep their fear tucked tight
in the ticking chambers of their
wilting hearts.

and there are those who fight,
who wield their fear like a sword,
who stare, defiant, at the dark
and carry in them all the light,
and spit and tremble and rise
long past the point
where hope last laid its head.

she was the latter.
i stood beside her in a place of fear
and saw true courage.