Sunday Sonnet!

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Dark, dark the night when demons of despair
Besiege fast haemorrhaging halls of hope,
An innate tragic lack to be aware
Of dangers on addiction’s slippery slope,
Exacerbated plight of ignorance,
As victim struggled vainly ‘gainst the slide,
Bemoaning wretched loss of innocence,
Denuded of a personal sense of pride;
Praise be, by Grace, the worse was not to be,
For mustard seeds of faith kept hope alive,
The death of Night gave way, daylight to see,
And steely resolution hailed, ‘Survive’!
A task is ne’er complete until it’s done,
A battle never lost until it’s won.

©Meanderings 2018

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