Visions of the Past 
 
 

My head is filled with visions from
Out of a misty past;
They come to me in frequent dreams
And, in terror, hold me fast.

Floating here and drifting there,
I canít distinguish faces;
But I know they want to hurt me
As my heart so wildly races.

Fingers reaching, reaching toward me,
Running through my hair,
And then . . . oh God . . . and then,
Theyíre touching me . . . down there!

NO! I scream. Begone, BEGONE!
For you are in my past; 
You can no longer hurt me,
For death now holds you fast!

Sobbing now, I reach within
And take that child inside
And hold her close and love her
Until her tears subside.

Then I take her hand in mine,
Turn our backs upon the past,
And pull her through that misty veil;
Iíve found myself at last.


~ Linda E. Newman ~
©used with permission
Read more of her poetry here.