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Poem: Trapped in the Clutches of a Memory
Recently I was watching an episode of Dexter. Yes, the T.V. show about the loveable blood-splatter analyst by day- serial killer by night character, Dexter. In this particular episode Dexter is thrust back in time to when he witnessed his mother’s murder. As the episode progresses, a colleague is shot, but he is unable to deal with the good news that he will recover after a successful surgery, due to the fact that he is “trapped in the clutches of a memory.”
I started thinking about that statement. How many of us are “trapped in the clutches of a memory?”
The past is like a prison.
Do you ever feel trapped in the past?
The past can seem inescapable sometimes.
The past can seem like a sealed box or prison that we just can’t escape from.
No matter how hard we try to escape that box that is our past, our memories, has been taped shut, muffling all screams.
The past or the memory becomes like a sound-proof box.
We scream. Air is running out. Our lungs struggle. Time is running out. The walls of the box begin to cave in, getting tighter and tighter, and we are trapped in the clutches of a memory.
The past is like barbed wire, choking out our present life.
We become trapped in the clutches of old memories.
We become trapped in the clutches of old actions.
We become trapped in the clutches of old regrets.
The past becomes like barbed wire, choking out our present light and life.
Others keep reminding us. No one wants to forget.
They seem to return over and over again.
We’re reminded of them over and over again.
When will they disappear?
When will we no longer be trapped in the clutches of a memory?
The past is like a sinkhole.
The past becomes a sinkhole.
Everything is caving in
and the landslide is suffocating.
This is what it feels like when you’re trapped in the clutches of a memory.
It eats away at the present.
Even our future becomes questionable.
Trapped like flies
We become like a fly that is trapped in a spider’s web or one of those sticky fly traps.
Our limbs flail about in despair as we resolve to our impending doom.
Our wings buzz about in a futile escape attempt.
We become confused, anxious, and afraid all because of a memory, something from the past.
Torn and tattered wings
We are never free if we remain trapped in the clutches of a memory.
We can never spread our wings and fly, because we will always see those wings as broken,
Trapped in the clutches of a memory.
Throw off those torn and tattered wings.
They are no longer able to carry you.
Let your heart dream of the possibility of being free
Free from the clutches of the past. The past is nothing but a deserted wasteland.
Free from the clutches of a memory.
© 2016 Gina Welds Hulse