The stillness a thorn of plight,
souls forever on the run for fear of night,
fleeting images of past taunting minds,
that wish those thoughts a serious death, in time.
And echoes of cries and pain,
cannot stay dry in pounding torrential rains,
each moment of suffering as clear as yesterday,
the slow and insidious atrophy of hearts decay.
Fleeing has its moment of redress,
yet the truth follows even the fastest in regret,
and stillness, clarity must soon abide,
for eventually there will be nowhere else to hide.
Images so dark and parlous, bleak,
linger at the edge of thoughts to speak,
yet we run, we block our prying ears,
to lose those memories that we so fear.
Yet they hold us all tethered, forever connected,
not faced our chains the burden of past to bare,
so to run, a travesty of resolution,
to stand and face our deliverance, our restitution.
Pain in intensity is the measure of fear,
for truth echoes far louder, in acceptance austere,
yet freedom it finds and in release our weightless resolve,
to create new beginnings and in burden absolve.
Tony DeLorger © 2016
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