Poetry and other animals

Battle Torn

A devilled hallowed place
upon a breathless wind
took hold of beauty deep
choked a barren lifeless soul

Brought down upon a trestle
laid on cold and squalid earth
dire waves of darkness roll
to keep its secrets close

Deathly tendrils hold a grip
with vice like lethal charm
madness, calmed with logic serene
speaks a solemn mantra call

Flowing robes billow round
white faces born of angels
shackled down with sins of old
creased, wizened, wicked holes

Low, rhythmic voices chant
to weaken more the strength
pull tighter on the hope of fear
lock down lost dreams eternal

Raised up a speck so tiny
as seen by none but those
whose life give never in
fight with nought but challenged soul

Slowly lifting up the body
encasing all so brightly
shines an effervescence divinity
breaking bonded demons whole

Falling down discarded waste
blown into ashes, specks of dust
living now with hope of love
an everlasting heartbeat drums

Resonating through body fibres
sensations coursing, splitting whole
exploding rays of sunlight shine
destroying all that drags and holds

Brought forth to answer no mans call
standing barefoot, tall, alone
power swirling, lighting coldness
Amazonian wins once more

I wrote this in the months leading up to me having a breakdown. It was a time when I could write without have flashbacks or dissociating. I used to love writing, I'd lose myself in the world my mind was creating and my pen would flow across the page as though the images in my head were real. I've always written like that and have done since I was little. My very first novel, I wrote when I was eleven, was torn up in front of me by my step father and I was ridiculed for even trying, but I kept on writing even though I did it in secret.

I haven't been able to write like that since I had my breakdown. As soon as I try to enter the imaginary worlds in my head the past comes streaming in full force and it's all I can do to just hold on. Now my writing is disjointed and short, often just a sentence and I feel it as a great loss, my biggest sanctuary was writing, it was my biggest pleasure.

I wote this during my breakdown :

Thud thud thud

Bang the fists on the wall

A body broken

Thud thud thud

Bang the fists on the wall

A silent token  

I feel like my mind is stunted now, maybe I'm not allowing myself to write because I'm scared of failing, I don't know, I hope by blogging about these things I can chase the demons from head, it's worth a try, isn't it?