Dear Black Dog

Dear Black Dog,

I’ve feared you for so long.

I have run,

I have hidden,

I have done everything in my power

to push you away.

I have lived in terror of you.

Now I stand here and I try to take you in:

wounded, in pain, hurting.

Gashes from which fear and despair flow.

Sores that ooze hoplessness,

leaving the ground slick with its fluid,

upon which I have slipped so often.

But no, not now.

Now, Black Dog, I will love you.

 

Moving with caution,

I will  dress your wounds with

poultices of compassion.

I will unchain you

so that I may bathe you

with kind hands and gentleness.

I will share with you my light;

not to obliterate you

but to warm in you what is cold.

You may snap,

you may even bite,

but I will heal and in time

maybe we will both learn to trust.

Black Dog,

I will love you.

 

Copyright, Johansenwords.com, 2016

 

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