What Sleeps Within

Thoughts of hesitance
ponder the beast
beneath the mask
uncertain the truth hiding
in the heart unseen,
wondering the whirlwind
that will be stirred
when caressing
what sleeps within.

Fear is the keeper of hands
who must decide
to reach with palms or fists.

Remembering times when scars came
from presuming a gentle touch
would be enough
only to have fangs exposed
and stunned by the violation of trust.

But to extend fingers just the same
with soft delicate measures
is often the gift that truly dresses
a wound that heals,
until the sufferer
can do the same
for those also imagined
as a disguised creature
merely subduing an instinctive rage.