The Aftermath Poem by Robert James Busby

The aftermath

After all,
The trauma,
and PTSD,
Has receded,
After rearing it's ugly head,
You have confronted the demons,
And you are finally free,
Or there is nothing left,
To exorcise,
The bad man has been banished,
And he's not coming back,
Please don't leave the door open,
Again…

But, how, unprofound, it is,
For the poetry, after the fact,
to be unoriginal,
When done,
To be slightly plagiaristic,
To a certain degree,
But still, presumably,
Some use to someone,
Somewhere.

It's enough to leave you baffled,
Bemused,
Thinking, such things, as
"why me." Or just, "why."
Could it be, that, love sometimes,
Loves for the sake of love,
Or saving?