Whispers Of The Horrible Past Still Cling Poem by Naashon Kuteesa

Whispers of the Horrible Past Still Cling

A photo, faded, in a frame of gold, 📸
A story that was never fully told.
I smile and say, 'I'm over it, I'm fine.'
But silent, ancient tremors travel down my spine.
😔

The scent of rain on cold and concrete stone,
Brings back a night I faced the dark alone.
A slamming door, a voice raised up in scorn,
A feeling that the soul had been outworn.
😢

I build new walls, I paint them bright and new,
With happy moments, tried and true.
But in the quiet, when the world is hushed and deep,
The ghosts of words you said stir from their sleep.
😰

They whisper lies I almost learned to trust,
That I am broken, less than worthless dust.
They coil like smoke, a poison in the air,
A constant, chilling proof you were once there.
💔

So do not wonder if I flinch at a raised hand,
Or need a moment I had not quite planned.
The past is not a country I can leave behind,
Its horrible whispers cling close to my mind.
🥺

It's in the shadow that I cannot outrun,
A battle fought, but never quite yet won.
For though I stand here, stronger than before,
The whispers of the past cling...forevermore.
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