Thurman P. Woodfork

ANGST

I have some spiritual wounds that hide
Down in the sanctum where my spirit resides,
Suppurating, poisonous, scarring the soul,
Stealing away warmth, radiating glacial cold.

An implacable gloom has invaded my core;
It corrupts the essences of who I was before
Life’s pendulum swung too far into the dark,
And clouded the pleasure, the loving, the spark

That made life a beckoning adventure to explore.
It’s left me locked behind a spectral door
That blocks and frustrates me nearly every day,
Keeps me captive to emotions I can’t hold at bay.

And, yes, I know no one else can really see
The debilitating damage festering inside of me;
They can’t see, and I can’t adequately explain,
These ageless wounds that cause so much pain.

If only someday… somehow… I could find
A panacea to heal this trauma to my mind…

Author’s Note: Contribution to the “Some Wounds Aren’t Seen” Series