Meltdown In Iambic Tetrameter

I chose to fight and not to flee, From troubled feelings haunting me. One look, within my weary soul, Exposed an ever-gaping hole. With introspective ink I write, To bring foreclosure to my plight. On form and meter I rely, While keeping free verse standing by. In healing cadence, new to me. (Stagnation came from living free.) A new persona will be found, Before I leave this form-go-round. Through sonnets, nonets, villanelle, My metered fears I hope to quell. Shall I find comfort in these forms Or run back to my free verse norms? I might be seeking, after all, The haven of a hallowed hall. Long known to poets of great worth, And find therein my own re-birth.