Oh, dear Satan, your delicious
merchandise finds me
I am a raw sunflower gasping for
clean air, for rare light
to open my thin arms
and feed my beginning.
I could be a generous gift,
a miracle fragrance in the breeze
of a season,
but I was stomped deep
in the Earth, fed on by worms
before I knew how to dream.
When dreams slipped in to my feeble
stem, they were
manipulated, filling my roots with
Now, I sleep with deadly seeds
growing in my brain, too weak to survive
surrendering to dark demons, until
spring brings back
the warm light of hope.
Posted on March 16, 2013, in Poetry and tagged darkness, Demons, Despair, Dreams, endurance, enlightenment, experience, Faith, Growing, hope, journal, life, light, Literature, mental illness, nightmares, overcoming the past, poetry, spirituality, strength, Temptation, weak, writing. Bookmark the permalink. 11 Comments.