The Echoes That Hang-out: A Poem on Trauma and Nightmares
Within the theater of the thoughts, the place shadows writhe,
A script is etched in scars, the pen’s edge a knife.
Trauma, the playwright of this limitless stage,
Crafts recurring desires that rage, and rage, and rage.
It stitches fragments of the previous into the night time’s shroud,
A tapestry of ache, its threads each darkish and loud.
Every nightmare is a specter, a ghost you can’t flee,
A relentless echo of what ought to by no means be.
Within the stillness of sleep, the partitions start to shut,
The air grows thick with whispers, the scent of frozen prose.
You run, however the floor dissolves beneath your toes,
A labyrinth of reminiscence, the place agony repeats.
The face you can’t identify, the voice that leaves no hint,
A visage blurred by worry, but etched with time’s embrace.
It’s not the monster you see, however the weight it bears,
The unstated reality of wounds that nobody dares to share.
Trauma is the architect, the builder of this maze,
It molds your desires with hearth, units your nights ablaze.
Every nightmare is a mirror, cracked however by no means complete,
Reflecting shattered items of your fractured soul.
But within the coronary heart of darkness, a flicker dares to glow,
A spark of understanding, a path you’ve but to know.
For nightmares aren’t simply torment, however a name to heal,
A plea to face the shadows, to confront what’s actual.
They whisper, “Right here I’m, the ache you’ve tried to cover,
The wound you’ve buried deep, the grief you’ve forged apart.
I cannot fade in silence, I cannot be ignored,
For less than by way of my reckoning are you able to be restored.”
So dare to fulfill the specter, to stroll the dream’s dim corridor,
To take heed to its secrets and techniques, to rise above its name.
For trauma could form nightmares, but it surely can’t steal the sunshine,
And daybreak will all the time comply with the longest, darkest night time.
Within the theater of the thoughts, the place therapeutic begins,
You maintain the pen, the ability to rewrite the pores and skin.
Let the nightmares be lecturers, guides to your rebirth,
For even within the darkness, there may be worth within the damage.
