Call Of The Past Poem by Wilma Horne

The past creeps up on her
Yet if she turns around
She'll only give in
And break apart

It taps her on the shoulder
As she fights the instinct
To turn and look
But that would be death

Things are finally going her way
She has someone who loves her
So she refuses to look back

Her past is persistent
It grips her
And tries to force her hand
But she's stronger
Stronger than before

It becomes vocal
Calling out to her
It believes it has won
As she crumples to her knees

But what it doesn't know
She's fighting back with prayer
She might be strong
But those words are more
More than she can handle on her own

The past has one more trick
It floods her vision
With images
Of the way things used to be

For a moment she gives in
But that's all the past needs
Suddenly she's overwhelmed
By things that once were

No matter how hard she fights
She's sucked in deeper and deeper
Until she can no longer see light
Until she's completely consumed

She's so completely overtaken
That she wakes in the night
Screaming, calling out
In her waking hours
She's haunted still
By nightmares unseen

All because
She succumbed
To the call of the past