The Winds of Change

Letting go of the past is a process.
But sometimes I find I can’t just let it go.
Like a piece of elastic;
it can spring back and hurt
when I haven’t fully released the pain.

Events that still replay over in my mind
and bring back feelings of resentment.
I think of these old memories like a wisp of smoke.
I can’t cling to them; 
they fade in and out,
but now and then they invade my senses.

Creeping around me,
like a blurry, unfinished line.
Trauma can’t hurt me, unless I stoke up the embers.
This is when I choke.
Tears of black pain pool.
There are ashes; stains.

Sometimes, though, it is cleansing,
but ultimately, I know the past is still living
all in my head.
Only I can choose.
Let it take over and suffocate me;
or watch the embers drift away in the wind.