Poetry Corner: It’s the Black Dog Talking

It’s not real, it’s the black dog talking

Whispers in my mind, that took it all it was away

The rhyme, the meter, the stitch in time

Silence, the crescendo of black, bleak, empty

The cold dead mental midwinter

 

I thought I had a question or was it a reason,

The dog convinced me of no purpose to my season,

You cannot quit on breathing, believe me, I tried,

Pretending the sun has risen and I had some hope,

The dog chewed my mind and it barked: nope!

 

Where is the light, escape, who said, there was no promise,

There was no gift, not present but the present of the shadow,

The ever-casting dark, the ever-darkened heart,

Life of which you will play no further part,

Only the dog has plans for you, come here, come hear the thunder!

 

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