I searched for peace inside a hollow wall,
where laughing echoes twisted into cries
of agony and fear which wrung my soul —
they flung me down and stole my will to rise.
With shaking hand I wrote my name in blood
extracted from this pulsing heart of mine,
then slowly scribed my story on the wall
and as I wrote, the words turned into rhyme.
My messages on concrete changed to wine
which sweetened with each kindly, warm reply —
each friendly sentence penned in dappled hues,
that blotted out the dank of times gone by.
As moon will fade and sun will take its place,
you led me out of dark and showed me light,
you gave me strength and eased the searing ache,
and now, when demons rise, I stand and fight.
The original version of this poem was in blank verse; I posted it a few hours ago. They’re both written in iambic pentameter, but this one has a formal end-rhyme to it. It’s meant to be an improvement, but I’m not sure how well it works, so instead of editing my original poem, I decided to post this separately. I’d be grateful to know which you prefer. You can find the original HERE.
©Jane Paterson Basil