The black dog of old
can land
when it gets too quiet
in those gaps
between creative runs
The secret desire
of the empath
our drug
is healing the three legged dog
We are outcome dependant
uncomfortable
In transformation
that is too slow
When the potential
does not express fast enough for our liking
It can gnaw and ache in the chest
The call from within
requests time
a slow gentle unveiling
a sense of humour
only in silence heard
This itches the mind
the carbon inside
asks for stillness to become diamond
but that work
is often too raw
honest
and we
keep ourselves busy
escaping into drama
familiar pain of others
small things
Many of us Earth healers
The Warrior tribe
Are discomforted In the space between breath
The ache of new adventure just out of reach
plies with open arms
We prefer to charge
Roaring
The hilt of cold steel
A familiar weight in the palm
Blood rushing good
Smashing armour away
To see ignition in a grey soul
The fizz-zap
As the pilot light comes on
Releases the hunger
Satiates our reason for life
It warms, soothes the belly
Dances fire in our eyes
Turns us on like nothing else
in those we touch
That warm heart rush of a task ticked
is followed most often by stillness
An opportunity to take the healing inside
This observant mirror can make us lose our bearings
Scramble for a finger hold, foothold
For breath in an inky float tank of space
To breathe the gift
refuel
trust self
requires a meandering walk
within the long quiet corridor
between the rooms of our own heart
the hidden fear waits
to be accepted
and breathed into transmutation
Our value
is not only in catching
The alone ones
But in the in-between
Opening our arms to our own lonely self
Loving him
Loving her
Wrapping and rocking the depths
Into acceptance
Grace allows fresh blood in our veins
Death of the sure
the known
As the old oilskin layers of coats fall away
Removes skin from bone
Readies us for the next adventure
Allowing a Mona Lisa smile
at our own seriousness
eases the discomfort
as friends fall away
lovers too
It happens
This listening place between the inhales
Is not to be avoided
There is much healing to be offered
In the place where obsidian and apnea live
As much love required in the heart of self
As in the Outworld
A poem by Veronica Farmer
All Rights Reserved
Also see www.madebeautifulbyscars.com to read real raw stories that heal
can land
when it gets too quiet
in those gaps
between creative runs
The secret desire
of the empath
our drug
is healing the three legged dog
We are outcome dependant
uncomfortable
In transformation
that is too slow
When the potential
does not express fast enough for our liking
It can gnaw and ache in the chest
The call from within
requests time
a slow gentle unveiling
a sense of humour
only in silence heard
This itches the mind
the carbon inside
asks for stillness to become diamond
but that work
is often too raw
honest
and we
keep ourselves busy
escaping into drama
familiar pain of others
small things
Many of us Earth healers
The Warrior tribe
Are discomforted In the space between breath
The ache of new adventure just out of reach
plies with open arms
We prefer to charge
Roaring
The hilt of cold steel
A familiar weight in the palm
Blood rushing good
Smashing armour away
To see ignition in a grey soul
The fizz-zap
As the pilot light comes on
Releases the hunger
Satiates our reason for life
It warms, soothes the belly
Dances fire in our eyes
Turns us on like nothing else
in those we touch
That warm heart rush of a task ticked
is followed most often by stillness
An opportunity to take the healing inside
This observant mirror can make us lose our bearings
Scramble for a finger hold, foothold
For breath in an inky float tank of space
To breathe the gift
refuel
trust self
requires a meandering walk
within the long quiet corridor
between the rooms of our own heart
the hidden fear waits
to be accepted
and breathed into transmutation
Our value
is not only in catching
The alone ones
But in the in-between
Opening our arms to our own lonely self
Loving him
Loving her
Wrapping and rocking the depths
Into acceptance
Grace allows fresh blood in our veins
Death of the sure
the known
As the old oilskin layers of coats fall away
Removes skin from bone
Readies us for the next adventure
Allowing a Mona Lisa smile
at our own seriousness
eases the discomfort
as friends fall away
lovers too
It happens
This listening place between the inhales
Is not to be avoided
There is much healing to be offered
In the place where obsidian and apnea live
As much love required in the heart of self
As in the Outworld
A poem by Veronica Farmer
All Rights Reserved
Also see www.madebeautifulbyscars.com to read real raw stories that heal
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