On the darkest of nights, I see myself curled up on the floor,
I cry and I plead, “I cannot take it anymore.”
Isolated among some dench and darkened trees,
Grief could forever keep me among the leaves.
The thought of staying enters my mind,
Here I can be left to rot amongst the vine,
But my body wants me to be free,
To vanquish the howling banshee.
I begin to pull myself up from the ground,
Telling myself I will come around,
Focusing on every tiny step I take,
On every fall and every break.
To find some way out of the tangled oak,
Life seems like some horrible cosmic joke,
Wondering if I will ever again see the sky,
Or will I just stay here to wither and die?