when you know it's real

all it takes is that memory, a weak moment,
or a likeness, somewhat the same 
it is always about the trauma, unconsoling
continuously seeping through your veins
to find its way into the currents of the mind
flowing slowly, the most dreaded of all banes
never ending are tragedies of your youth
even here in this most present age
stories that end up in darkness, and ill favor
self-imposed isolation, a lonely cage

swells of emotion, emerge from the deep
to take it all beneath a watery grave
you find yourself suspended, no control
grasping for the arm that might save
to hold on to hope that the wave will decend
that your eyes will again see the light of day
that there will be something solid to feel
another ally to help chase all the pain away 
for this is the game of those who are tortured
whose past, and whose future was waylaid

the battle must be fought, the pain endured
if ever there was to be a future way
to establish oneself, to overcome the bane
to traverse the path that must be laid
a pathway forward, only a few can see
that leads to the light of a hopeful day,
for to focus on that is to be uniquely free
free of the past, free of the pain, free to stay
all of the wrongs that should never be
a day when tears, you will no longer weigh