Search retreats and holidays
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The Attic

a poem by E.H.

There was a creaking in her attic,

The kind that settles in your bones,

Makes your heart flee when you have the thought,

Of facing it alone.

Her mind made it an object,

With each creek sending her numb,

Like the noise possessed a pair of hands,

Wrapped tight around each lung.

The world told her to fear it,

“There’s nothing good in the unknown”,

And she wondered if they’d ever faced,

The creaking on their own.

So she built herself a ladder,

From the thoughts that screamed to stop,

And she climbed into the darkness,

Waiting at the very top.

There inside her attic,

Prepared to fight it to the death,

Her fingers shook against the switch,

And fear gripped at her breath.

As the light flickered above her,

Not a monster was in view,

But a group of dreams she dared not have,

In fear they’d not come true.

The creaking in her attic,

Had been a plea into her heart,

A fear to face the unknown,

And release them from the dark.

Because you won’t encounter freedom,

If you give in to your fright,

Sometimes the bravest thing you’ll ever do,

Is just turn on the light.