My head in my hands,
Like a mourner at a funeral.
The world is a herd of elephants, cascading down around me.
Breaking my bones.
My heart.
My soul

I wait for my savior to bring me the light.
I wait
And wait
For what seems like a lifetime.
My rescuer doesn’t come.

Instead, I hear voices,
Which give me advice,
Perhaps it’s the darkness,
Trying to be nice
But one sentence,
One phrase,
Sticks in my mind.
It says,
“Your life is your own,
Do with it what you wish.
But do not sit here alone in the dark,
Do something to fix what is wrong.”

So I stand from my hole,
And step up to the plate.
I practice my swing,
But I can’t be late.
I am ready to hit the ball,
To fix what I’ve caused.

My hands shake,
and are covered in sweat,
But I’m ready
To hit the ball.
It flies at me,
From deep, dark depths of the dungeon,
But I’m ready.

I hit the ball hard and it flies into the wind.
The bat gives it wings to fly.
And goes to the good end.

I’ve done it,
something for myself,
I didn’t need a savior,
and none offered help.
I took the bait,
And stepped up to the plate.