Sos Poem by April Down

The forethoughts are serious contemplation
And are subjected to so many rumours
Of the memoirs
Which seem to haunt and replace the current
With the past

It’s reoccurring, recollecting
I’m rapt before I remember,
I’m years ahead

I apologize I know not what I do
There is fantasy replaying
Where I speak to the past in the
Present; no longer gain coherent perception
And lightly flick perplexity till
Its baby hands wrap around my closed fist

Assistance? I am coy and deem
Help as weak and would cause me
Much damage to rely on the hand of another
I cannot give my voice to it,
And only trust it passes with speed
And may mighty steeds be so mighty
As to not yield to insecurities, which breathe
From another’s exposure