Many of the poems that I write here come out of my struggles with mental illness. This poem, I hope, is a testament to the power of writing to help us order our inner turmoil and offer it up as a kind of prayer, refined by the process of writing.


The threats you cannot see are real:
Hold my hand and know the beat,
The syncopation of my heart
And how it pounds at thoughts
Unknown to you, while I am caught
Amidst these firing neural darts,
These sounds of permanent repeat
And all the fear I feel.
It seems so easy; then you peel
Away my layers in the street,
As I navigate the parts
I cannot comprehend or sort.
I’ve not chosen, nor have bought
This life of anxious fits and starts;
I have learnt it, like my feet
Have learnt to strike my heels.
Yet my knees can learn to kneel
While the battle rages past.
Learn with me love’s soft retreat
Where grace shall be our fort.

Published by Matthew Pullar

Teacher, writer, blogger, husband, father, Christian. Living in Wyndham in Melbourne's west, on the land of the Kulin Nation. Searching for words to console and feed hearts and souls.

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