A Killing of Giants
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
These are the weapons you use
to beat back the barbarians at your gate,
to reduce their power,
their all-encompassing darkness
to something as simple as tides.
In.
Out.
Forcing the demons that surround you
to quell their frenzied dance
to a minuet of your own choosing,
reducing them to something less than mortal,
vaporous, ephemeral, expelled like the last morning fog.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
About this poem
Another tough morning this morning. Another victory for meditation. Take that, depression!
Tom
Quarry House 
Oh, Tom, how perfect for me this day. This is day four with a cold, congestion, no voice and a puppy who has gone on a hunger strike. Everything is overwhelming. I am going to visit my oldest; dearest friend in North Carolina soon and so much to do before then. The pups and I have been practicing our meditation before we get up in the morning while it is still dark and quiet.
Thank you!