Building Ladders

A Poem

Photo by Samuel Zeller on Unsplash

I read it in a book it must be true:

writing words can heal brokeness’s blue,

souls fallen apart at the seams, bleeding

into the sand; forgotten how to sing.

Entrenched — safe cocoons of darkest pity

spun painstakingly, lost sight of pretty,

always digging deeper down in darkness

embracing blah and bile and bitterness.

Treason it is not to turn to light and

fight for air than wallow in despair. Grand

it will be to build a bridge or ladder

than sit, swallow pills making one sadder.

Legitimize inaction, celebrate

Illness you’ll find, soon a sealer of fate.

Easy it’s not, find the right word, then jot

it down, in order — first side rail begot.

A ladder also needs a rung or ten,

another page of writing one must pen

about the hurt, the horror, and the past;

yet, don’t linger there. Onwards! Writing fast

less shadows it will cast, about today,

the hopes, the dreams — the second side rail stay.

Climb from the bottom of the pit to light.

Easy? No. Choose hope; life — oh, it’s a fight!

Thank you for reading!

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