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Test Migration New

ICSA Today, Vol. 01, No. 02, page 17

Arts: Poetry


Annabet Moseley, M.A.

“Come,” they whispered.

“Come, BE, and live with us.”

Seductive promises and subtle lies

caressed her lonely heart.

She desired a life of meaning and light,

freedom and joy.

What she got was so much less –

except for the painful part.

Dropping into madness born of

utter despair,

She saw them body bag her lover,

carrying him away.

A deadly ritual that ended in

absolute denial as

the cult leader intoned,

“We have nothing to say.”

“Sshh! Sshh!

Be quiet and don’t cry anymore.

You’ve got to Stop – Stop – STOp – STOP!!!”

Fragile mind spiraling out of sync,

unable to accept

Absurdly conflicting

messages from the cult’s top.

Mind and body frail,

starving, overwhelmed, exhausted,

twisting and turning for an answer –

for any way out

of the widening

nightmare consuming even her days,

Sleeping forever,

oh blissful sleep, seemed a logical route.

Surviving, instead of dying,

she started the long road

back from the utter darkness of

failed cultdom to light.

Trying this and that, plunged again and

again beneath

drowning waters of guilt and sadness,

she held on tight.

News of Wellspring where

healing could be found

brought her new understanding about

how cults work.

Interpreted by a kind and caring doctor

who gave his all

to help damaged souls escape

the demons who lurk.

“No one joins a cult,”

Dr. Paul Martin said.

Like a vine clinging to a wall,

she believed him.

It was the first truth that breached

her defense

of mind terrorists

who took her to destruction’s rim.

She repeated and

repeated and repeated those words

In the months and years after he

Wellspring stay,

They brought her release

from guilt and pain

Building each moment

into a bright new day.

For those saving words,

for empathy and


Dr. Martin, your

memory we bless.

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