Black Dog. A poem.

The Black Dog snarls again, hanging from your neck
With caged fire teeth, its canines, piercing your carotid
Blood oozes, spits and sprays again, raining all around  
You struggle, gasp, hew and cry, finally falling down

The Black Dog is your enemy, Black Dog is your friend
Who everyday will shake you hard, just a little plaything
The Black Dog, he won’t let you go, at any time of day
Not for S.R.I.s, or N.R.I.s, or even T.C.A.s

But if and when he does, when you’ve finished bleeding out
You claw your way back from the pain, all the fear and doubt
Then you praise and pat the Black Dog, for the fire that burns inside
For the holy hearth that lets you write, for the fulsome dreams inspired

For the Black Dog has you by the soul, and darkness is his tool
The Black Dog hanging from your neck, who drains the life from you
The Black Dog with his irony, insincerity and woes  
The Black Dog he will never, ever, ever, let you go


As a person who suffers from long term depression, I thought it only right that I write a poem about it.

Homeless. A poem.

Where did our pale love go?
One day it packed its bags and left
And our home became a house and so
We strangers walked the halls, past mirrors lined with filigree cracks
Reflecting lives and wars

Solace found, a tale of woe
Which I pay until my dying day
When does home become a house to go?
Secrets in the floors and walls, that play amongst the ornaments
Telling tales of rise and fall

Where did our pale love go?
Left, unable, unwilling to return
From a house, not a home, no more
Away from what I valued most, all guilty tears, bittersweet regret
New house, not a home at all

Well, I’m on fire this week. Here’s another poem I composed.

As with all my poems, it’s deeply personal. But hopefully it speaks to all.

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