that which does not kill us…

December morn – I’d end it all;
Was not the plan – I went for broke.
No notes to loved ones did I scrawl
What break within did this provoke?
Decision made ne’er to revoke.
Eternal slumber should have bought,
But four days on, a cruel joke?
I live, It must have killed me not.

One year, six months, I do recall,
‘Til I was pleased that I awoke.
Some days I’d laugh; some days I’d bawl;
No, that’s a lie – all tears I’d choke.
I wore instead a smile to cloak
the wretchedness, that clinging clot.
You might expect a grateful bloke…
I live, It must have killed me not.

But then, one day, black moon did fall;
The dark heart opts to shed its cloak
And find itself within sun’s thrall.
Now, prayers of thanks I do invoke;
Still with my children, midst my folk.
By heat of hellfire change is wrought.
Though some would seek the flames to stoke,
I live, It must have killed me not

Now fog is lifted, clearing smoke;
A purpose, focused, as it ought
I live! – voice of the morrow spoke:
I live, It must have killed me not.

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Poetic form: The Ballade