When the Panic

When the silence grows shrill in you and won’t be said;
When the sadness grows deep in you, like winter, but will
 
Not well; when the panic rises, like the past, and won’t
Be shaken; when five years of untaken sleep become
 
A nightmare of doubt, a life in drought; when the fear
Wakes before you with the scissors in its hands; when
 
Hope becomes a harder case than you know how to make;
When the floor drops out from everything you thought
 
You were and meant and knew; when the world shrinks
Back to shibboleth and nothing peaceful anywhere knows
 
The letters of your name—I want you to remember this:
The panic passes, the fear will end; the pieces into which
 
Your days have frayed and fallen will become a life
Again, and it will be your own. You’ll never get over
 
Any of this, but you will, without a doubt, get through.
You will stand glad under a winter moon and smell
 
The weather change and know that when you wake
It will be spring,
      and the years will have turned their faces back
Toward all the light that’s fallen your way from the start.