Redemption by Vanessa Reed (@VReedWriter)



Vanessa Reed


Don’t court the monster.

Even though it wants you.

Don’t let it in.

Let’s play pretend.

It’s a creature:

Fallen, but majestic,

Almost regal;

Like a unicorn.

Its approach

Makes you feel

Like you are chosen

And special;

Worthy of the Ancients.

You want to let it in;

Tame it,

Make it your pet.

Its wicked nature:

An impossible dream.

Don’t say the name

Or look at it too long.

Don’t let it in;

Hard to leave once it’s in.

You’ll feel it

Like an inserted needle.

It doesn’t hurt,

But it’ll feel like

A small weight,

A split shot sinker,

Placed just inside

The center of your chest.

An alien that doesn’t belong.

Hiding so it won’t be found.

You can’t obliterate

What you don’t know is there.

Can’t kill a cancer that grows out of sight.

Perhaps it’s much like a mosquito bite:

You never saw how it got in,

But the sore is there.




It waits beneath your tongue,

Or behind the eyes.

You bring it with you


It is with you

Even now,

You don’t know,

But it has you.

Lashing out at others:

Saying things you never thought you could,

Doing things you never thought you’d do.

Breaking your life,

Watching you crack,

Using you to harm others.

Holding you captive

Inside yourself.

You’ll watch from within:

A view you can’t see.


It flashes pictures

In your mind:

Terrible pictures,

Not from you,

Not your thoughts.

An attachment that pretends to be a bond.

It is lonelier







Or ever will be.

A loss

Almost incalculable:

Losing the Divine,

Being deceived,

Star of the Morning;

Guilty of war crimes,

The monster within them.

A failed revolt.

A soured race.

A decrepit space.

A cause abandoned.

And then,

An insatiable craving for vengeance.

Crawling, mauled

And ripped open,

Staggering toward us,

Their intended targets.

Intended for us to suffer:

Drive the nails

Into us instead.

To feel,

To feed,

To fuel.

What was once lost

Is now found.

Within us

They don’t claw out.

Using our vessel

Like a mask instead.

Wanting us to turn

Like it was an artform.

Turn us away,

A beckoning light,

A feeling to fight.

So the children rise;

Not weak sucklings,

But fierce assailants,

Fearless hearts,

Truth on their tongues.

A resistance begins:

An ember kindled,

A fire begun.

Hoist the sword,

Put on the armor.

War is hell.

Hell is war.

War isn’t over;

Never will be over.

Not until

Chains are broken,

Prisoners are freed.

Turning back

From the path

We have chosen.

Not too late;

Never too late.

Always hope.

Always fight.


It is already written.