How quietly do memories appear;
How steathily they move in dark of night.
When hearts are tender in their sleepy fear,
Anxiety invades with frightening might.
The mind will dwell on actions not performed
Or ruminate on words too quickly said
The hands will shake when brittle bones are stormed
As recollection rears its ugly head.
But past is past and only past can be
Though formative its traumas may become.
Long gone are foes or fickle enemies
The battlefield’s abandoned; wars are done.
Let thoughts not be the realm where fear resides
But rather be terrain where peace abides.
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