In the silent aftermath, beneath the debris of the mind, Where shadows dance, and whispers of the past entwine, There lies a soul, untouched by time's forgiving grace, Caught in the echo of a moment it cannot erase. Shock grips the heart like winter's frost, As reality blurs, and clarity is lost. A world once vibrant, now desolate and grey, Where voices are muted, and eyes look away. Denial weaves its deceptive veil, A fragile refuge where the wounded pale. "Perhaps a dream," the heart dares to say, A fleeting hope that pain will fade away. Anger then rises, a tempest fierce and wild, Bearing the hurt of the neglected child. It screams, it shatters, it seeks to blame, A fiery guardian of the smouldering flame. In bargaining, the soul reaches out, Seeking to soothe the seeds of doubt. "If only," it whispers, "if only I might, Trade the shadows for a sliver of light." Depression, like dusk, quietly descends, A solemn companion where the broken-hearted wends. In its embrace, time loses its flow, A sea of sorrow, wave upon slow wave of woe. Yet, within the depths, a spark ignites, Testing the darkness, reaching for heights. With tentative steps, the journey begins, To find where ending meets and healing wins. At last, acceptance opens its gentle arms, Embracing the soul with its subtle charms. Not to forget, but to hold and to Mold, A narrative of resilience, courageously told. Through the labyrinth of pain, a passage wrought, By battles fiercely fought, and lessons taught. A testament to the strength that lies within, The light of the survivor, undimmed by the din. Written by Lana Davison
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