the things we sweep aside
burying horror deep inside
in the cursed ebony hours
when we beg for mercy, sleep;
for ourselves the secrets
becoming hungry ghouls feasting
upon our weakened minds
the guilty hauntings we cannot keep
can consume our nights
disturb our days, smuggle peace away,
yet we know we like other persons
must fight our way into the light
make a plea to God for help to win
our lives back from that which would
steal our breath, leaving us inert, end
disspirited and dead, a corpse alone
the past is tome we must place upon
a disused shelf and let it fade
not reopening it to inquire what
now we miss because there is nothing
it holds that can invade today
unless we give it power, let it stray
from the position, it has earned
retired, obsolete, bridges burned
some memory we may desire
but much is sheer agony, anger, pain
from such we well do to refrain.
Everything has its place. Those things that torture us, we should endeavor to expunge from our thought. At least, never linger over them. Our guilt and shame provide no benefit to us presently or going toward the future.
I cannot tell you where this poem came from. It just, as most do, took over my thoughts.
Be well. Express gratitude. Leave life better than you found it.
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Haphazard Creative 