At Last, My Love

I found a dream that I could speak to, a dream that I can call my own~Gordon Mack and Warren Harry.

After the deep healing session, nightmares
feel free to emerge–they must, in the glare
of all this light. In the strong day, dismissed
they lurk and wait, the hate in story twists

that lingered long and festered. Who would guess
intelligent strategies childhood stress
can still be triggered. Adult in the room
I sort through these dark remnants wearing gloom.

And in the morning, tired and strained, I breathe
as old symptoms appear poignant in grief.
I’m meeting them grounded in my belief
assailed by these dogmatic mourners sheathed

rigidly and spouting inanities.
Applicable noetics sanity
unfenced by fashionable fantasies
I tune and sound soothe these old vanities.

Inspired by: Dogmatic, Poignant, Meeting, Applicable, and an orthobionomy session that released deep layers of hidden trauma–and a resultant nightmare.

Featured image: soothing my grief for my dead mother this morning, a mother duck guards her day-old brood.

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Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

4 thoughts on “At Last, My Love”

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