Painful experience doesn't always make a good poem, but the chemistry can work—if, I suppose, you find the right metaphor.

I hurled myself into the waiting night;
God caught me,
Laid me in moonlight in a bush
And laughed.

I trussed myself and threw myself away;
God held me,
Untied me, removed the rope,
And watched.

I trod the pathway of oblivion;
God followed,
Showed me the hidden corridor
Of light.

I saw the light grow brighter where I lay
And rested,
Exhausted and victorious
In defeat.

© David Collins 16th October 2006, Calgary,
Revised 19th February 2009, Bristol