I'm Gawain. They Are The Drunks.

The fear is not of something new
but "can my mind absorb it?".
I tense like dreams of lost control;
I feel I must avoid it.

Is this where the phobics herd
who'll neither fight nor face it,
and call me rude, a geek or nerd,
if I should try and smite it?

It's black, the assault. With
wrecking assumptions.
I fall and crawl and rip belief;
evil. Not lethal. I clamber;

now I'm on the higher peak;
look down upon that shadowed route.
Peacock faces worry up,
huddle. But I've done it. I know:

I've learnt the new technology,
uncared those sneering weenies.
I turn my back and grin the dawn.
I'm Gawain. They are the drunks.