The Cost of Commitment

The Price of Fear 

Commitment 

asks for the long road—

the steady hand

the willingness

to remain faithful 

to the person 

I am called to become 

when remaining 

costs something

It is the refusal 

to abandon myself 

halfway through 

the process 

It requires

a spine of intention

remembering 

what it promised

even when the promise

feels heavier

than the day before

Fear

charges its own price

in advance

It demands

hesitation

as collateral

doubt

as interest

distance

as a down payment

Fear says

wait

until certainty arrives

but certainty

never does 

Fear prefers
the middle ground

a foot in each world
a heart divided
between what is called
and what is desired

lingering
at the threshold

neither fully surrendered
nor fully gone

but every divided loyalty
eventually demands
a choice

There are vessels
for worship

and there are tools
for the upkeep
of the house

both necessary
both appointed
to their purpose

but confusion begins
when maintenance
becomes the mission

Commitment says

begin anyway

and pay the cost

in presence

in courage

in the quiet choosing

of the next right step

And somewhere

between the two—

between the vow

and the trembling—

a life is shaped

by what we give

and what we refuse

to surrender

There is a place 

between surrender 

and departure—

a narrow country 

where fear 

prefers to live

one hand 

holding the promise

one hand 

reaching for escape

dwelling 

in two worlds

committed fully 

to neither 

it creates 

a tearing 

a separation 

a war 

between the heart 

and the mind  

To name the truth

is not to be changed by it

Revelation

is only the opening of the door

not the crossing of the threshold

To continue unchanged

after seeing

is its own kind of refusal—

a quiet betrayal

of the very light

that exposed the wound

Many wait

for time

to make the decision

they fear to make themselves

But time

is not merciful

Time is a judge

that rules

in silence

And when the heart

keeps fighting

both sides

of the same war

when loyalty

is split

and courage

is rationed

the battle

does not end

in victory

It ends

in exhaustion

The war ends

when both soldiers die—

the self

that longs to stay

and the self

that longs to flee

not because

either prevailed 

but because

no choice

was ever made

And time becomes 

the last one standing 

but even time

cannot resurrect

what indecision

lets die

For every promise

left unattended

every calling

held at arm’s length

every vow

postponed

into oblivion

leaves a life

unlived

a self

unclaimed

a future

unentered

This too

is a cost—

the quiet ruin

of what might

have been

the price

fear collects

when we refuse

to choose

© Ron Simpson Jr.