I never dreamed that happiness could feel so far, nonexistent to me,
the very life-giving presence of it sucked away so mercilessly from a young doe straining against the vampiric wolves which tear at her flesh.
And even now I look back upon that time with eyes of one who has known even their [the eyes\'] end
and felt flesh knit itself again together over places where only bone and bounding artery remained-
with these fresh eyes and new form borne out of such agonizing debasement,
I see that old image and sense a separation from and a loss felt for the old way.
This young creature, an innocent who has met an untimely end, is not me. How could it be?
She has died, and i have risen in her place.
In her place I stand, stillbound and still-bound by chains made of visceral raging doubts which flow endlessly twisting through my mind,
binding me in place so that although I am now alive, still I cannot leave the scene of tragedy.
How shall I be freed from this prison? Untethered, so that I may fly only to fall yet again, or so my fears say.
So while the key is within my grasp, I falter still. I have found comfort within these walls, and freedom is a dangerous thing.
But now, I see the sun rising above the horizon and shining out through the low clouds, giving light to my way.
I had wandered as if blind through a dark and wooded valley,
the branches tearing at me seeming to be the arms of many devils reaching out to pull me down into the grave;
the distant cries of wolves had sounded out from every direction.
But now, I have stumbled out of this dark valley, blinking like a newborn coming into the full light of day.
Like the seeds of these same trees which had surrounded me, I had to be buried before I could grow;
like the caterpillar which must give up its old shape in its makeshift womb to be born to a greater form,
like the legendary creature of fire which is continually reborn from its own ashes,
so must all life go through such changes.
The question remains, is the new form always greater than the old,
and would it not be better for hardship to never occur?
Tragedy is still a tragedy, and loss is still a loss.
But I might as well weave whatever loose threads I can gather together into a new tapestry;
glue the broken shards of clay with gold lacquer to make a new piece.
It is a second tragedy to leave everything forever scattered on the ground.