Even in despair, there is a defiance that refuses to be quiet. These poems are about pushing through death’s shadow.. even if survival feels hollow.
I no longer wish, To tiptoe where I should run, In the open fields and flower valleys, Just to fit in where I shouldn’t. I wish to run, Till I run out of breath, In the honour of a life, I never once lived. So today, I’ll no longer, Stand where I always stood, I will enter those fields, And let myself love it to the full. Even if the flowers are dead, Even when the soil is mush, I won’t let myself standstill and not budge, And leave the rest of the care and judge.
She sat in a room. With dim flickering lights, As she wrote about an innocence, Now devoid of life. A wandering soul, In a body with no life, Searching for a home, Made of light. She fought the shadows, Her demons made, And drowned in waters, That the sorrows craved. She hid in sight, But was a visible to the world, As she tiptoed along the banks, Of a river called hurt. The girl in the room, Her hands now trembled, As she wrote of girl, Who dared run from death. A fate that hollow, Even miracles wouldn’t budge, Drowning in pain, In the pool of her own blood. The candle those burned, Now stopped to watch, Reminiscing of a girl, Not knowing where she’d gone. And flames stopped to watch, To burn a life drawn, Not knowing, not caring, Where the smoke had gone. The ashes that remained, Now mixed with dirt, As they found themselves, Some another to love. The bleeding ink, Had blotched the page, Marking her sorrow, Of no happiness to be traced.