Theres power in pain,
Great power in a pen,
And greater power when the pen is used to pen pain.

Here we stand
All of us dying
With only our hope in hand

As the rising tide
Joins death's side
In the pulling of times sand

All in bare feet
Along life's beach
To the sound of lapping waves

As the sun sets
So does our best guess
In the counting of our days

they are infinite in number

from our most frightening childhood dreams
to terrible nightmares in our later years
born from guilt, disillusionment, trauma, shame

they glare at us all of a sudden

apropos nothing they flash into our minds
disrupt what little peace we may have found
in our busy lives

when they arise from their sealed chambers
undo the locks we put on them
    to keep them quiet and remote

we have to face them
    eye to dreadful eye
    face to frightening face

then   gradually

    surprise

the closer our  stare
the more we are aware
that all these faces share
what we find hard to recognize

they look
    quite disconcertingly
like us

maybe we should
    rather than banish them away
acknowledge them  as what they are

the different facets of our selves
that we present to our world
from day to day