Without poetry

I
collapse,
fold in upon self,
victim of life’s circumstance,

succumb
to evil’s strong sway,
falling prey to depression,

crumble,
disintegrate and
die a little every day,

curse
my plight, deny true light,
suffer, shrivel without hope.

With poetry

I
exorcise
demons that would
confine me to damnation,

smash
despair by forcing it
out and onto pristine page,

coax
dying tendril in me
back to life by writing faith,

cheer
waylaid stranger within,
wayfaring soul marking time.