Member Poem

Shall I defy those rigid fiends within?
For they expose my covert anguished ache,
And force my heart to linger ‘mongst my sins,
By delving ‘til my misery awakes.
O how am I engulfed by such disease?
For this domestic evil is fiction:
A made-up fear that sends me to my knees,
As I beg for a lull from affliction.
A battle living absent to the eye,
But drowning pure morale beneath the host,
Will urge the fiends to sheer intensify,
As those unstirred will neglect this woe most.
So allow me to wish I was naive,
To avoid these worries in which I grieve.