Trapped by fear like a deer in a hunter’s sights,
    panting, chanting mantras and swallowing my fright—
While outside the world spins wide and I choke to cry
    at rope on the hope strangling my sigh.

Dawn comes none too early in pin points of light
    filtering through my soul and urging me to write—
Of the blood and the mud and the utter waste
    on sands and strands steaming with piranhas in a race.

All I was and all I am bursts forth in banshee keening
    as I mourn the past, and moan instead of screaming—
Fog outside this morning and ice upon the wind
    bring to mind a face and faith that has always been—

Dance naked in the moonlight and reach for the stars
    and paint yourself in colors to cover up the scars.

AB Christie