But What Do You Fear?

I have traveled far and wide. I have seen princes of noble birth, and self-styled kings—bandit lords. I have seen a brother kill a brother, and that second brother, the dead one, with foresight claimed revenge from his grave. I have seen the ancient stones which uphold heaven; I have walked with the dead below the earth. There is a riddle unanswered still; yea, I have asked all men what they fear—what is this thing that haunts all men? But they know not my question. They have no answer to give. I grow tired of asking this thing.

Do daring deeds unmake the soul? A bribe unhinge desire?
Do woods and trees contain the whole, yet still are burned in fire?
And I was blind because the lightning flashed before my eyes
yet still the more, the rolling thunder caused greater surprise:
Who knows the deeds or things that will be done under the sun?
and yet the night contains the more—the things that must be done.
So oft I am to wander off, at least within my mind,
that some may find reason to scoff, to think that I am blind.

But what do you fear?