Turnabout

The villainous contest of living this life
Surviving the terror and struggle and strife
Could never quite equal the pains we receive
When misery’s minions run rampant and rife

While fear itself frightens, uncertainty, doubt
And insecure wanderings through minds run about
That depressing demeanor of dreary young dame
O’er which such dejection rules misery’s clout

It stands just to reason, to bear such visage
That dame needs a bottle for grimness to lodge
And keep it she may within heart secure
But closed from redeemers whose aids she will dodge

A sorrowful story, yet tale often told
Events oft repeated, the trials unfold
It surely is weakness to make her withdraw
Yet weakness again as her secrets are sold

A countenance of joy, her somber confines
Her youthful appearance so now creased with lines
Fear grips her young heart and shakes her to tears
And still all the while she discounts the signs

That bottle well-hidden will shatter and break
The shards pierce her heart like intolerable snake
Hissing its words of deception to her
She runs from salvation, her poor life at stake

A cry through the storm and a beacon of light
It casts off the serpent and sets her aright
Brought now to tears she weeps in embrace
Strong shielding arms encircling her tight

The bottle’s still broken, penetrating and chilled
Reminding her heart of those times that she’d filled
With sorrowful aches and fearful occurrence
Her own gray despondency nervously willed

And yet there is hope, while from errors she learns
A goal which her liberator hopefully yearns
With timid new steps she’ll rise once again
As quickly from grayness her young face now turns