Have you ever broken a bone?

I remember those six sunless years-
each one a heavy stone.
My world had shrunk to four stark walls, a fortress I’d built alone.
My body felt like driftwood, numb and cold,
A living ghost with stories left untold.

I’d choked down grief like bitter burning wine
And tried to write but my hand couldn’t find a line.
Fear was my shield,my constant, chilling friend
Yet in my heart I knew this wasn’t the end.
I whispered vows into the shadowed air:
I wouldn’t vanish lost to deep despair.

Two years I paced a different kind of cell,
Surrounded by others living out their hell.
Then a dawn broke not gentle but a shock,
A blinding truth that splintered every lock.
It wasn’t life that held me but my fear,
And suddenly, my own stark self was clear.

A whisper came, a cold and tempting plea:
“Just sleep, let go, let sorrow set you free.”
The bottle shook my hand reached out so cold,
One quick, dark gulp, a story centuries old.
Then time exploded, pain a searing blade!
“Help me!” I gasped, utterly afraid.

Then hands reached out, a warmth I hadn’t known.
They offered comfort, quiet talk, a path to being whole.
My guilt still burned . .
But now a boundless mercy filled the sky.

A year has turned, no sudden, desperate sway.
I’ve learned to breathe, to face each passing day.
Though shadows still can lengthen, lean and sigh,
I hear life’s hum beneath a hopeful sky.

Now past those walls I walk in open grace.
The sun, a blessing, warms my hopeful face.
I stand on shore, breathe in the morning’s cool
And slowly learn to trust this brand new school
Of living where the simple gifts abide.

©Karpop Riba