Why, How, Help

The tree house back home sings melodies of sweet memories.

And the distorted images of failed attempts of recreation sings

long forgotten songs.

The picture starts to darken with coming years, fading into the

growing devastation.

Erasing the stains of others in your life. Erasing their effect, 

brings the melodies

back, singing like the sweet memories of days past.

Ignorance is bliss.

A lurking shadow threatens to engulf my mind again. Anxiety

takes my peace under

threat of taking my peace.

Why. How. Help.

Reviews

[Nick.B]

This flows very good, also we all want to live in the past, the good ol days...a very emotional poem, well done

[Anna]

Thank you, means a lot