But it can be won.
My battle has been an ongoing war for the past four years. I’ve been struck down, many times, covered in the dirt and thirsty for pure water. Reaching out my hand, begging to be saved, I breathe and one step at a time, I lift myself up and push onward.
The past may be the past, but living in a constant memory is bringing me down. Fear of faith, fear of doubt, unable to manage present, unable to see the future. An unknown road, but no dead end sign keeps me moving forward.
This battle may be lost, but there’s still hope for victory in the war. Sense of failure, sense of heartache, but clinging tight to the breath of tomorrow. This dirt road is full of tragedy, but it’s also full of love and a fellow heartbeat pulls me along.
Scratches and wounds, open and wide keep me in a bad dream I often wish to forget. Fear of self, fear of memory, unable to forget, but unable to see. Those chains wrapped around a victim, but they are loose, fighting to keep going.
Forgiving eyes, comfort in words, I struggle to trust, and drown in uncertainty. Sense of imprisonment, but subtle sense of compassion. I look to my left, I look to my right, walking side by side, I trust and see a shadow of me, taking the shaken hand, I pull along.
That battle was fought, and mine bombs are still exploding. Some strike, some miss, as I walk down a street, walk past a house. I look to my right, a sense of silence, a sense of shame. With these soldiers, my fist rounds tense, pounds the door, breaks it down. A frozen girl, sad girl, fighting to be heard.
These arms sneak in, scoop her up. Sense of jailbreak, sense of pain. I carry her out, through the war zone, her eyes look up. Fear of belief, fear of alone. With her in my arms, I carry her along.
This unfinished battle, this ongoing war. Having been struck down, I am picked up, dirt washed off, hand grabbed, not letting go, saying “you will be saved”, I breathe as I am carried by each step forward, I carry on, not alone. We keep going.
