Thurman P. Woodfork


Thurman P. Woodfork: A Touch of PTSDEasily forgotten, always remembered;
ancient ephemera plucked from life
before that life had barely begun.
Evanescent and yet eternal, it lingers
in the subconscious like the irksome
ghost of a familiar song half sung.
A solid shadow that is gone at the turn
of a head; a presence as fleeting as a
brief, gentle breeze and as substantive as
the Alps. Not living, yet vitally incarnate.
A noiseless sound, an odorless aroma,
tangible scenes painted with the mind’s
brush on the gauzy canvas of a dream.
A bloodcurdling, cheerful, silent scream.
Emotionless weeping, mourning laughter
reverberating in an infinite void. Proud,
unrepentant supplicants aching with joyous
remorse, supine and arrogantly begging
for forgiveness. Beyond understanding.