We all are told that clocks will cure the soul,
Erasing tear grooves that rut our cheeks,
We nod and smile and promise them then hold
Our grief inside for lifetimes, not for weeks.

At last, we think that we can live and sleep
Without nightmares, cold sweat or fear,
The dreams return to what we hope will keep
The panging heartbeats muffled, respite near.

Out of the blue an image, voice or place attacks,
Sends three steps back. Begin the game anew:
Regroup, rebreathe, remake your happy tracks,
Allow yourself the time and space. Be you.

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Image by annca from Pixabay