PTSD

The leaves turn color in the fall
If only to hide themselves from frost,
And winter, with it's greedy call,
Would entice them, nevermind the cost-
Everything there we once had, lost-
Never expecting cold would steal it all.

Though my memory seems to sleep,
I smell it rotting on the forest floor-
The only piece I never wished to keep
Is mine, and will be evermore!-
I see the ice-man and his door--
His eyes, torture my mind will reap!

In your face, stranger, is that day-
Residing forever in November-
Clearly hiding, predator and prey-
I didn't run as fast as I remember...
And in memory's last dying ember,
I can hear the horrid things you say!

I do not understand the autumn days
Though many find them inviting-
I can not find the sun's sweet rays
And the poetry they're reciting
Through the clouds that haunt my gaze,
And the tears that mar my face-
And my fate, the latter, deciding.