The Past

The past is past, they always say

You must keep living day by day;

But in my dreams the past is here,

And my world of color turns to gray.

My loved ones must find it so queer

That I would choose to live in fear

Of past events they cannot see

And men they do not know are near.

But in my mind they’re real to me

Shaping who I thought I would be;

Unwelcome touch and words so rough

In the present are hard to see.

So though you think I should be tough

And clear my mind of all this stuff,

My pain will grant me empathy

And in the end I am enough.