Tuesday, 18 July 2017

PTSD (January 11, 2014)

The sound
One prays for
When the past is screaming
In an unrelenting blast.

Stirring up
Bitter old memories
Best left behind
But can't.
Of times
The body and brain 
Are subjected
To extreme trauma
They weren't designed for.
Memories hidden
And tuck away
Behind mental walls.
So very flimsy
And yet
Incredibly strong.
Until triggered
By something
So innocent
Like a song word
Or a smell.
Leaving you trapped
In that moment
Of time.
Unable to move
Your terror ridden body
Until the moment
Has expired.
And reality resumes
Minus the time
Which you have lost
In the past.
Leaving a hole
In your consciousness
Never to be

Therisa © 2014

Author's note: Another poem, from my poetic morgue.

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