My Saving Grace

The world around me has no power to stop itself.

There is weakness in every corner, in every crevice.

I hid in the crevices with it.

For, where there is weakness, I am also found.


I wait for a better life, a kinder world, a saving grace.

But I sit, in the weakness, unwilling to move from the pain and desperation.

Because pain and desperation is all I know. 

It's a comfort, not a curse.

I wait for a happier existance, but fear any form of change.


What if it does get better?

Then things can only get worse.

I'll recognise the fall, there will always be the voice in the back of my head telling me that "nothing gold can stay."

I'll pray, every night, for it to last.

But the feeling will never leave me, I'll know that something will change.

I'll recognize the signs, and be too afraid to stop it.


So why can't I just move.

What part of me requires this fear, this weakness of my own?

Have I been sitting in that crevice for too long? 

Has someone else been feeding these thoughts to me?

Where is the child that has abandoned me, taking the hope with her?

So why can't I just move.


Perhaps one day, my saving grace will come.

They will appear on horseback, in glittering armor, making sure I know that they're there for me, telling me that I am not weak.

But I highly doubt it.


I have a feeling that I must become my own saving grace.

But how?


This poem is about: 
Our world


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