The Words of Recovery

Dreams die; 

some after the dreamer deceases, 

some before. 

Perhaps this is because the world, 

restless and translucent, demands great things

from every individual. 

However, the tragic truth remains the same: 

some people can't rise high enough

to grasp even the smallest of expectations. 

I used to believe I was one of them. 

My hallowed bones would quiver in fear

at the thought of failing, of fading, 

of falling. 

But Alas! I found my hope again. 

One morning, I awoke to the sound

of birds chirping sprightly outside 

and to a warm and soft bed; 

to thoughts of a poem

that once healed my heart before;

to a poet who, as I, often found 

the greatest enemy within her own skin.

I smiled to myself, my hands relaxed, 

and I whispered to myself, 

"Today, I shall rise."  

This poem is about: 


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