Growth: 17

Today I fainted dead away on the post office floor.
I woke to a headache, and a bruise on my bum,
but I stood slowly up in the faces hovering above and thought:

To be brave.

Nostalgia creeps itself into my mind,
shows me the forward motion of my here-to-fore days,
shows me the necessary movements of this very day,
shows me the steps to take to make it to the come-what-may,
and I think:

To be brave is the only thing.
It is the only thing.

Would you let me whisper this, deep inside your ear?
That brave is what I need from you,
neither wisdom, nor righteousness,
not perfection in every small large thing.

to be brave, dear one, to be brave,
is to walk through the revolving door that stands before you
without knowing what side will turn you out,
but knowing [but trusting] that through it
you are being asked to step

Fear may flood you,
may shake the ground on which you walk
but there are worse things than falling down;
and standing slowly up is not one of them.

In the faces hovering above, to be brave is the only thing.

[grow, verb: to increase in size or substance; 

to spring up; to develop to maturity]