Therapy

There is that moment, when you decide to enter
the dark places, the hallways you kept locked
for so long in hopes that the ghosts would be satisfied.

But they never are.

No, ghosts are voracious.
they feed on fear and silence,
feast on being kept in the night,

and die only in the sun.

About this poem

I am a believer, an evangelist even, for therapy. It has saved me once and that is enough to make be more than a believer. I am also aware of the fear that is part of “going there” again, where ever our most fearful “there” is.

Tom