Consecrating ones life to an imbecility

I suppose, as a poet, amongst my fears can be counted the deep-seated uneasiness that one day it will be revealed that I consecrated my life to an imbecility (to something intrinsically unnecessary and superfluous – and thereby unintentionally cruel). In an intriguing essay called “On Fear”, Mary Ruefle touch upon a problem I have been…

We stumble – We fall – We fail –

– And so desire to progress, to become better poets, to eradicate a disease, to become better people, to perfect that which is perpetually imperfect. On Fear by Mary Ruefle