I used to open up
about how deep
I was sinking
into quicksand.

Open yet closed,
nobody really knew
me.

Demons were my lovers;
the succubus
held a flame
to my heart.

Willing to surrender,
I fought myself.
I hurt my body,
my soul…

Today I am different.
Weakness is still
my strength;
temptation still
holds my hand.

I recognize myself
in the mirror of
self-examination;
I reach out to me,
showing grace
where none is deserved.

Willing to surrender,
I forgive the old me.
I embrace myself,
and learn
to love.

An axe was put to a tree;
a sharpened tool cut,
causing pain.
Causing pain.

Blow by blow, that tree shuddered;
what once was solid and strong
became fragile.
The tree no longer had confidence
in being able to stand
straight and tall.
Too much damage
had been done.

I wish my hand
had never gripped
that axe of destruction.
I long for the tree
to be whole again.
I weep for what I have wrought;
my tears are not enough
to replenish the strength
of that beautiful tree
I caused to suffer.

I won't give up,
nor will I
give in.

My story will not end
by my own hand.

Although I am led
by un-holy thoughts,
I will fight
to the bitter end.

When my eyes look away,
I will pray
for strength to close them.

If my body's desire
is to serve itself,
I will try to treat it
as the temple it is.

I won't give up,
this story
will not end.

Yet it seems so simple
to take that easy way out.

Don't give up;
I won't
give in.

Morning dawned,
a new spring day
arose from night’s
comforting embrace.

Ah, spring.
Our sun is heating us
more and more
while winter’s dark doldrums
pass into obscurity.

Sounds of nature awakening
should be coming through
the bedroom window.
Chirping birds,
children playing.

And then....

And then I looked
out.

A howling gale
beat relentlessly
against my windows.
Flakes of snow stuck
to my sidewalks.

It looked cold.
It seemed cold.
It is cold.

Spring has sprung,
but it’s kiss is frigid.
It seems to be a good day
to stay in bed.

I have lived my life
surrounded by concrete,
bright lights,
speeding cars,
next door neighbors.

My own brand
of peace,
of solitude,
of quiet.

It was all an illusion,
for time has been filled
with constant
busyness.

Now, as I get older
I long for something
different.

I crave nature's wild sounds,
I desire impenetrable darkness
that holds my deepest secrets.

I fear that my thoughts are exposed,
what with all these streetlights
shining like dented halos
around my very existence.

Alas, it is not meant to be.
For as I draw near
to the end,
I suppose it is too late
to move towards
a different life.

We should lay under
warm blankets,
listen to slow music,
and let a symphony take us
to breath-taking heights
as love provides
melody and harmony;
you and I
together.
Forever.