The Spark
It’s not the storms that bring me down,
But sudden noise or violent sound.
A cupboard slams, the coffee spills,
And I’m back among the distant hills.
A car backfires, an angry tone,
And I’m no longer here alone.
The past comes rushing, sharp and fast,
The present’s gone, the moment’s passed.
A shadow moves, my heartbeat climbs,
I’m trapped inside those other times.
So small the spark, yet fierce the flame,
It calls me back and speaks my name.
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