Angela Paul
4/4/2010

A familiar rage builds within and I feel myself recede into the fog.
I look for light and search for warmth but instead I roam in circles.
With each repeated step, my soul and hope are bound and dragged down
Like the forgotten words scrawled on tattered pages of my self-condemning novel
The chapters unveil the blueprints of my life, the recipes of well intent
That failed so miserably.
The bruises that caused sadness, when sadness wasn’t meant,
The scrapes that time forgot to heal and scarred my memory instead,
The words, the anger, the unbearable silence
The void of love and the resulting assumption of unworthiness.
Over the years I’ve come to fear most things I haven’t reason to.
I’ve accepted the notion that a broken future might be all in my possession.
I’ve long grown accustomed to the violent shudders,
the trembling, paranoia, and secret tears.
From the hollow reaches of my own reality I search frantically for answers, that never appear; How did this began? Why am I afraid? Who is it I am fighting?
If I cast aside the shackles, will I finally feel alive?
Or shall I plummet to my sorrow and endure the treacherous night?
Day by day I’ve allowed others to rein my every thought,
Allowed the chains I’ve bound to myself, to be my chosen hell.
From the dark and damp corner, banished and alone . . .
I look for where to lay the blame, but only find myself.
Desperate to bury my corrupted hope, And to gain peace and strength
I realize I’ve spent too long on hatred for the very thing I cling to.
Amid my forsaken and feeble resistance , the dawn of remorse has availed
I step to the left and begin my ascent to victory over myself.