beneath the leaden shawl of self doubt
lurks poisoned potion of long witheld
acceptance of abuse and soul crushing
denial of ego constraining complacency
marking out the shame of victimhood
dark places visit my mind to amplify
a scream which travels on and on
wrecking into the confidence of past
where thought was reassured with love
but now undermined in worthlessness
would today the wholesome blackbird evensong
of loves yesterday share their love anew
with this torn state of being in which i am
torturously wrecked to endure it\'s whole?
now - am I - was I ever - worthy of that grasp?
though
. yet again somehow
the spirit of my beloved blackbird sings
to the eve of the day
and life within it\'s tortured field
holds a promise
from i know not where
but to question such...
finds those darkened places
where i shy away
seeking light
from yesteryear\'s delight...
though fool be I
to linger there