Posted by: Postordinandy | July 24, 2012

Black Dog

Although you may not hear him,

the Black Dog howls in the distance,

ever-hungry, ever-impatient.

 

He stalks, soft of pad,

nose to the ground,

ears alert to the sound of discomfort.

 

His presence may be noticed before he bites,

but often the marks can be unfelt for years,

the gentle bleeding lost in the fabric of familiarity

 

Once attached, he wills to stay.

Teeth sunk deep, jaw locked,

eyes rabidly fixed on your own.

 

Some pretend he is not there,

drag him around like an over-sized bracelet,

mindless of the extra weight.

 

Yet there he remains,

fully assimilated, fully your own.

Depression can be for life, not just Christmas.

 

We must find a way to celebrate him,

to re-frame his anxiety as caution,

and his madness as creativity.

 

For he exists, and there are many like him.

Some with teeth bigger than others.

But he can be tamed, and owned.

 

And even loved.

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Responses

  1. Very very good, I really like it, as I have reoccuring bouts of depression. It help me to read this over and over. rest gently please. dusty

  2. Really powerful poem and deeply evocative. Nalini


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