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Test Migration New

ICSA Today, Vol. 02, No. 03, pages 30-31

Arts: Poetry

My Elusive Dream
Freezing rain, running, legs burning; your breath is catches in your throat…panic, fear seeps from your pores, disorientated, in the forest you are lost. Flattening yourself to the ground, your mind screaming impossible commands; melt into the frozen earth! Listening; silently, you feel the darkness creeping up upon you. Get up your soul screams…your body does not respond. Terror seizing your mind; you know the blackness is at your heels; you know it will find you. It’s too late…you are no longer cold.

Can you feel my elusive dream? Would you understand how it is to be trapped in fear of life in fear of success; fear of normality. The pressure to conform gnashing at your soul; yet, knowing complete exile is the consequence of refusing. Lost and trapped in a land frozen; light and darkness meld… completely void. The spirit screaming for freedom warmth and light; although time slips as day wanes to the ever ominous twilight.

Twilight brings with it an eternity of distressed semi-haze when moments of clarity shine brilliantly; however fleeting these moments are…later to be lost and forgotten by horrors of daylight’s lifting mists. How long can you fight and wrestle with a tormented soul? Then again, how long will your soul endure the torture should you venture out into the forest… of no return?? As the only return is truly the death of your soul.

Tis’ death to human spirit to stay and tis’ death to go…as you may find yourself six feet under the cold forest ground… all this anguish over the fate of my own soul. However cold fear may be, death itself comes at the price of finality. Turning it round again, questions flood the mind. I heard once from a man telling of one who died for me. Why? Yet, if so, would he not have then wanted me to be free. Freedom is for me, I think…yes, freedom is the one thing I seek. Even still, belief in my freedom is always simply out of my reach. Will it be freedom in life or freedom in death…either way, I am no longer cold.

Saoirse (freedom)

Shattered Innocence

On this foundation shattered and torn

Into this life we have been thrown

In fear we cowered before you

Our innocence obliterated before we could stand

Tears flowed as blood from our veins

Hatred, animosity, and rejection found

Ambivalence, to my suffering and pain

World shattered before my eyes

A soul of pain

Adrift in madness

Raped…A product of…




Shattered… all for what?

~ Sara DeGraff

About the Artist

Sara DeGraff

I lived on and off, all my years until I hit 18, in the Twelve Tribes, which is also known as The Messianic Community, and as the Community in Island Pond. They are a religiously based high control group, in which children of my generation and the generation to follow suffered tremendous abuse. There in the coldest clutches of northern Vermont, my innocence as a child was forever shattered. Blurring the lines of sexuality, physical punishment and fear, my life has been irrevocably scarred and marked. I was in from 1980 and left on my own in 1997 at age 18.

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