Freedom Is A Whisper

I hear a soft voice in my ear,

Cannot make out the words for fear.

The message is too good to be true,

Long, so long, overdue.

A possible freedom from this pain,

From memories seared in my brain.

Can these really be washed away,

No more allowed to stay?

Freedom from the dark nights,

Filled with fitful, waking frights.

Sweat drenched sheets tell the story,

Memories played out in dreams so gory.

Can I be freed from dark depression,

All of life; all this compression?

The sadness, the numb, the suffocation,

Of having little to no daily motivation?

Can thoughts of leaving this world be gone,

So I can look forward to the morning dawn?

Too good to be true at times I think,

But the whisper makes me rethink.

The panic and anxiety wished away,

For these and all mental illnesses I pray.

The whispers that pass me by and fly,

Bring a tear to my dry eyes.

Of a hope that one day I will be free at last,

From all that haunts me from my past.

Freedom; freedom might come to pass,

Freedom to live in the present at last.