How can I pour
All of my tragedy
Into my poetry?

How can I hear a choir
Of my past
Into my heart?

I am trapped into my tragedy,
As I am trapped in poetry...
But no one is there
To show me the way out!

I am trapped into my past,
In the depths of my night,
Should I go to the crematory
And throw myself to the flames?

I am the slave of poetry,
So I already am the slave
Of those flames,
For what is passion,
What is poetry
If not the greatest fire?

My endless tragedy still
Draws tears on my face...

My desperate poetry
Still screams from within me,
Still uses me as a demon
I would be possessed by...

My past is always there,
Never giving up,
How can I erase my guilt?

I am trapped into my past,
In the depths of my own night,
Should I walk on the thin ice
Of my sanity,
See if it breaks...
Then I’d be free...
Free in an asylum,

But I already found freedom...
Shivering cold in the icy water,
Burning my flesh into the flames,
The flames of poetry!

Elya Thorn

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/trapped-into-poetry/