It creeps upon one like a spider in the night,
It seeps its venom into you and creates a great fright.
The demons and martyrs of Hell’s writings take you for a sheep,
Cackling as they crawl all over you in your sleep.
You feel helpless, ashamed, and weak,
You can’t imagine the others before you who gave into it, their legacies are bleak.
Are you to be one of those shriveled leaves in the winter which falls,
On the frosted ground as it hears the fleeing birds’ calls.
They fly South for the season where it is warm and blue,
Nothing holding them back for they are driven, free, and true.
We aspire to be like them flapping our wings away from the fears,
Us, just like them, never having to taste the salt of our tears.
In the breezy morning they brave the yonder to a new beginning,
The dark clouds will not deter them as their shame is thinning.
They hope for the morning where their beaks and the warm breeze will kiss,
Where the demons are no longer existent and they would finally be at bliss.