Unintentional Self Harm Poem by James McLain

The hush of leaves in twilight's seam.
A softer touch, a breathless sigh,
To soothe the ache, to still the cry.

Yet whispers grew, a haunting tune,
A melody too soft to shun.
Its lilting notes, like woven thread,
Bound me close where silence bled.

Two paths diverged beneath the trees,
One bore thorns, the other ease.
But in their midst, a fragile sound,
A siren's call, a tethered ground.

I chose the road of gentle harm,
Of whispers wrapped in lulling charm.
Each step I took was light, yet fraught,
With solace earned and solace bought.

The fork behind, the hum ahead,
A quiet tune my spirit fed.
But oh, the cost of seeking peace,
Is knowing pain shall never cease.

And as I walk this shadowed way,
I find the night does not betray.
For even harm, unmeant, untrue,
Can cradle wounds and cradle you.