Here is a space where the sad breeze stops
earlier than the breath begins.
And here the peace rests thick and smooth
and here the calm drifts to soothe
and here the self-talk does not move
to pound the beat of a painful song.
We’ll stay here between this breath and that
where the peace rests deep and silken,
leave the room where crippling sorrows brood
and dream a dream of a kinder, tender mood,
out of the black dog’s teeth, chewed
but in the place where the sad breeze stops.
Let us dream a dream that’s kind and tender
here where self-talk does not move
safe from the black dog’s teeth
and where the sad breeze stops.
Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved