The forest is silent. All of a sudden

a tree branch rustles. Could it be

a bear coming to attack helpless

baby mountain lion? Or is it a 

racoon out hunting in the midnight air?

There, in the bush, a pair of eyes, glowing

yellow. Are they looking at me, or have

they spied something in the grass?

A movement on the ground

near my feet. The movement is long

and slender. I shall not move, for fear

it is a snake, out hunting for a 

midnight snack.

I hear splash in the stream, so I

move towards it, silently. It is a deer

& her fawn. They are walking home.

Over there, on the other side of the stream,

a wolf watches them hungerly. The deer and

her fawn reach home, safely.

There, waiting for them, is a buck.

Written © Sarah Fiack

 Go to hell!

Die!

I don't care.

Cuss me out.

Hurt me.

I won't fight.

Tease me.

Ignore me.

It doesn't matter.

Abandon me.

Stay with me.

I won't notice.

Written © Sarah Fiack

1996

Note: This is an old poem written by me years ago.

Mental illness is not a joke & should be treated as

the actual illness it is. People suffering from it

deserve respect & understanding. 

 Dramatic; daring to be different.

Romantic and yet realistic.

Accepting of differentness.

Generous and willing to listen.

Open mind to new ideas.

Never prejudiced, sees no color or difference.

Forever free, on stage and in life.

Loving and still learning.

Young, always bringing smiles.

Written © Sarah Fiack

May 1997

 Knife against my skin

the feel of being sliced.

All the pain and fear in my life

disappears if only for a few seconds.

I shall not succeed on this try.

I'll live for another day of torture.

There is always the next time.

I'll always remember the feel

of a knife against me.

Always!

Written © Sarah Fiack

October 1996

Talked we have;

of many things

and issues which

tore us apart inside.

Left am I 

with a feeling 

of awkwardness and 

unsure of where

to go from here.

Are my feelings healed?

I cannot say for sure.

Nor am I positive 

of what I feel.

Written © Sarah Fiack

December 1997 

 Left am I

to wander aimlessly

amidst

a mind of 

utter confusion and chaos.

One decision-

many voices with 

different thoughts.

A mind of confusion:

 of chaos.

Which voice is mine?

Wandering from

thought to thought:

Grasping onto what

faith is left...

slowly losing faith.

Hold onto faith

my child...hold on.

Order exists 

amidst chaos.

Through these eyes 

is a soul

wandering amidst its own

self -doubt

questioning everything.

Written © Sarah Fiack

April 1998

Death 

Delight

Eternity

Absolute

Truth

Happiness

Vampire

Very caring

Always a friend

Master over mind

Priviliged Person

Interesting to outsiders

Ready to listen

Everlasting

Written October 1996

© Sarah Fiack

Depression

Sin

is

repressed

deep 

inside.

Teardrops

Red

tear

drops

at 

sea.

A

sad

sea. 

Written January 1997

© Sarah Fiack

I found my old poetry from years ago.

Thought I would share some on here.

Renaissance

Sin

is 

nice:

see 

as 

I 

see

sin.

Dragonheart

Dragon

hear

gone

a 

heart.

Here 

a 

tear.

Written January 1997

© Sarah Fiack

 Sleep.

Restless.

Tossing.

Turning.

Eluding.

Wanting.

Needing.

Exhaustion.

Collapsing.

Eyes close.

Body relaxes.

Mind Rests.

Another day done.

Written 8/14/2020

© Sarah Fiack

 Light.

Grey.

Darkness.

Slivers of light.

Peeking in -

Shattering the darkness.

Breathe.

Reaching up 

or out -

can't tell. 

Reaching for the light.

No!

Darkness disappears.

Surrounded by light.

Too much!

Blinded! 

Chasing & reaching!

For the darkness..

for solace, comfort.

Finding the grey.

Finding familiarity

of light & darkness.

Here both exists.

Here...

I.

Can.

Breathe.

Written on 8/13/2020

© Sarah Fiack