The wolf and the lion

I woke in tears this morning–for the first time in a long time. I wrote a poem which I won’t be sharing here. And I am overwhelmed by emotion from a place that does not exist, words I have not said.

Looking outside now. I wish it were dawn.

Things left unsaid cannot be said.

This is why I would risk everything to find and say the words that need to be said. And I often do.

And in dreams all the things left unsaid–all the words I cannot find now–are thrown back at me by myself. Yet there is a higher self that speaks with the tongue of an angel that would save me.

And there are these two fires that burn: one that would consume me, and one that drives me on. And I wake from these things to these things.

The fire, the tears, the words, they don’t stop.

Whatever all this means, whatever purpose the worst I’ve known serves, I have faith that my wounds will be turned to weapons. I know that my heart will survive.

I would shut it all down…but I can’t. There are those I have come to love. I read those words I just wrote in astonishment.

If ever there was alchemy, it is in whatever has turned the stone within my chest to a heart once more. If ever there was a miracle…it is this love.

So I wrote of the lion and the wolf that live inside me

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