Whispers of the Soul

PTSD

The Other Side of the Door

There stands a door, worn and weathered,
Its paint chipped and faded, a sentinel tethered,
I stand before it, heart pounding loud,
A barrier between me and the shadows that shroud.

On one side, a world of laughter and light,
Moments of joy, where hope takes flight,
But beyond that threshold, a tempest brews,
Whispers of darkness, haunting my views.

I grip the handle, my breath catches tight,
For I know what lurks in the depths of that night,
Memories like phantoms, ready to soar,
Ready to spill from the cracks of the door.

I want to keep it closed, sealed tight with a vow,
To guard the soft heart that still beats somehow,
Yet the hinges creak softly, a familiar tune,
Like the siren's call of a waning moon.

What if it swings wide, unleashing the storm?
A flood of emotions, relentless and warm,
What if the echoes of pain take their flight,
Breaking the silence, consuming the light?

But oh, how I yearn for the strength to break free,
To face what's behind that door haunting me,
To step through the threshold, to dance with the past,
To wrestle the demons and reclaim what they've grasped.

For though it may terrify, there's healing to find,
In the ashes of trauma, a phoenix designed,
So I'll take a deep breath, as I turn the old key,
Unlocking the memories, letting them be.

I'll swing wide the door, let the light flood the room,
Embrace all the shadows, let them lose their gloom,
For the other side holds not just fear, but rebirth,
A chance to reclaim the whole of my worth.