Whispers of the Soul

PTSD

Echoes of the Past

In the stillness of night, when the world is asleep,
Whispers of shadows begin to creep.
Uninvited, they linger, like ghosts in the hall,
Echoes of moments that rise and fall.

Each flicker of memory, sharp as a knife,
Cuts through the silence, resuming their strife.
A laugh in the distance, a glance thrown my way,
Suddenly plunging me back to that day.

The walls hold their secrets, the floors creak with fear,
As echoes resound, I wish they'd disappear.
Time weaves a tapestry, frayed at the seams,
Where memories haunt me, intruding my dreams.

With every familiar sound, I'm thrown back in space,
To moments of chaos I cannot erase.
The heartbeat of trauma, a drum in the dark,
A reminder of wounds, a perpetual mark.

Like thunder rumbling in a clear blue sky,
These echoes return, and I cannot deny,
That they shape the silence, redefine who I am,
Each echo a puzzle, a piece of a plan.

I search for the daylight, for solace and peace,
But echoes of past haunt my thoughts, never cease.
They spiral around me, like leaves in the breeze,
A dance of remembrance that brings me to my knees.

Yet within these echoes, a strength I can find,
A resilience born from the scars intertwined.
For though they may linger, I learn to reclaim,
The power within me to rise from the pain.

So I gather the echoes, let them teach me their song,
A symphony woven where shadows belong.
With each note of sorrow, I find my own voice,
In the echoes of past, I learn to rejoice.