It’s often when the world seems kind, the foe leaps in to steal your mind
of all the hope you’d held intact, and horror robs your brain of fact.
Rotating blades within the gut increase their stretch, til faith is cut.
It aches so much you can’t conceal the pain.
It cuts so deep you can’t conceal the pain.
The steel has reached your pounding heart, and sorrow’s played its bitter part.
Beneath your feet, the faithless floor tips and sways, while you implore
kind entities to feed your soul, yet screaming silence steals your goal…
and echoes that, this day, you’ve gone insane,
and you believe, this day, you’ve gone insane.
Hell’s bells then toll to tell the world the thread of life has been unfurled,
and Satan’s servants draw their claws, as teeth glint green in gnashing jaws.
You smell the sulphur, feel the pulse, as with a shudder, you convulse.
You tell yourself that you can take the strain,
You chant the mantra “I can take the strain.”
The Devil’s terror bends your bones, and you collapse, as he postpones
your future, by the coal-black joke of wrapping round you like a yoke.
Now panic rises; he erases all remaining hope-filled places.
Though bound and blind, you need to break the chain,
to live through this, you need to break the chain.
With drumsticks banging at your heart, with churning stomach ripped apart,
as arid lungs choke ragged breath, you sink towards ignoble death —
’til courage rising from the mire, brings you a hint of lifespring’s fire.
So thus you learn that you will rise again,
and now you know that you will rise again.
©Jane Paterson Basil