PTSD … and a Wakeup
© 2011, by Don Poss
I do not seek answers…
but an understanding of how to defend myself.
I can fight men, win or lose,
but cannot fight the dreams that storm about
dwelling between the thunder claps of my night.
Dream-things, like Huey-night owls swooping at scampering prey,
wet-things that slime from earth at scent of passing blood, or
death-reeking scavengers tilling soil for droppings of wrong I have overlooked…or ignored.
Without warning those retrieved scraps are thrust forward,
assaulting twilight-mind, taunting, raping, enveloping, consuming…digesting,
and I am once more in the midst of unfolding darkest-visions…
swirling, unchanging-sameness…
eternal moments of shadowed-reality…
dimensional memories demanding rebirth…
refusing to be gone…unforgiving, insisting on replay as if I have missed a lying-truth and
do not recognize every micro-frame that loops its way through
the virtual night, long imprinted upon my soul, and even
now daring to infringe upon the fleeting solace of cockcrow, and dawn.
I awake…or am I…
Has it ended… I see the searing lightening-moments even now.
Was I ever asleep?
Dark Memories take flight from my soul...
Unspoken dreams... just secrets of the heart... the light too harrowing to endure.
Forgiveness ungiven, like malingering apocalyptic darts of tribulation.
Get-It-Right!
Why do they return..? Generations have slipped by...
Get-It-Right!
Why don’t they stay in their ghostly box? Why now?
Get-It-Right!
365 And a Wakeup. I’ve dreamt The 365 … for over 45 years.
I yearn for the And a Wakeup.
Tell me how to make it stop….
