Escape

Fearful of eyes in the dark
and the reopening of old wounds,
I run towards an uncertain future
in search of a light to guide.

I don't know where I go or why,
I only know that I must get away
from the old things,
from the dirt and the pain
and the interminable darkness.

The dreams won't leave me alone,
always with monsters chasing me
and never coming close.
They still cast a heavy pall of fear,
and somehow I can never run far,
but always end up back where I started,
alone and destitute.

Like a beggar I crawl in dreams,
waiting for the bomb to drop.
It always does...
even if only in the form of a creeping pollution.
It corrodes at my heart, at my innards,
sapping my strength to live and my hopes.

I grasp at what solace I can get,
but hoard it for future days,
because I do not know how long it will last otherwise.

I don't want to have to speak these words.
I don't want to be afraid.
I wish I could gather all that pain, all that pollution,
like a dirty, threadbare cloak,
and fling it off to disintegrate
into harmless debris in the fresh, bright air.

I want to see myself walking forward
instead of running away,
and really believe in the vision.
I want to accept it and not be afraid.
I wish I could lock the happiness in to banish the terror,
but for now I can only wait.

Things must come. They must.

I have to continue believing.
Otherwise, nothing is worth anything at all.