Cowering, shrinking back into the shadows,
Fearful of my captor’s retaliation
Should I make a wrong move or unwelcome sound,
I find refuge in my imagination.
The steady pulse of rhythm and rhyme
Is the echo of the pounding of my heart,
While images of another place and time
Distract me from the snare in which I am caught.
The target of unrestrained hostility,
Held prisoner in an insidious cell,
Paranoia feeds on my fragility
While I endure this private living hell.
My tormentor leaves me drained, paralysed,
My spirit crushed by uncontrolled fears,
And I struggle to find the words and lines
That flow as freely as my pitiful tears.
Yet the longest night of the longest day
Still cannot drive my prayerful hope away
That the darkness will end, and with the dawn,
I will be freed, and my wretched soul reborn.
©2017 Joanne Van Leerdam
This poem and 50 others are published in my newly released book. The Passing Of The Night.