Marking the Boundaries

Here is the mark
We will not cross
We will not falter
I will feel at a loss

It is a line
That is drawn in the sand
Forever vigilant
Forever manned

A line that is written
Marked there still
For many years
The tide does spill

A beach sand mark
Not to be weathered away
By sand, by tide
By night or by day

It has been crossed
By others before
But today I say
No forever more.

((((hugs)))))

A poem about marking your boundaries

Survivors often have problems with boundaries, and I wanted to write a poem about this aspect of healing.

My bucket

A bucket worth of feelings
Lies on the tiled floor
And in this bucket I place
My fears, my anxieties and more

The bucket is my salvation
I look at it when I can
I see it standing there beside me
It is my greatest fan

And what would happen if one day
The bucket were to rust
Then how could I know
With whom my feelings I could trust

And if the bucket had a hole
Would it leak; would it overflow?
In this I do not understand
In this I do not know

And what if the bucket
Were to be seen by someone new
Would they know what I was feeling
Would they know what I could do?

And so if you see my bucket
You will understand
That it is me that you're talking to
It is me that can be that grand

My Path

I see a path
In front of me
I place a rock
I look and see

The path does change
A little bit
The path does wander
I must admit

Another rock
I place there still
By the edge
I think; take my fill

I see two rocks
I place them down
Am I happy
Or will I frown

I stop;
The rocks are wrong
The path is broken
Breath not strong

I continue on
Placing more rocks still
I fill the path
Rocks make my will

The path overflows
I can do no more
Many rocks fill the path
I know not their score

The rocks weigh me down
I take some away
I wander back
The path does sway

I am right now
My rocks are there
I can see them
I know they care

So what do I do
Now the rocks are mine
You place rock
And say it will be fine

I see a path
In front of me
I place a rock
I look and see

Bedroom Door

A feeling of terror
Knocks upon the door
I hear its sound
It comes after me; some more

I look up
The door is open
The image there
It is unspoken

It is dark
The door is wide
I see him there
In his stride

Is it real
Is he there
It seems to me
I just can't care

He stands there
He does not enter
An apparition
Scaring at my centre

It makes me scream
Is it a ghost?
Is it real?
Thoughts scare the most

I do not know
What to think
What if its real?
The horror; I blink

I am left now
With this thought
Just what is this
In this I'm caught



Nightmares can sometimes seem so real. I am unsure if this image is true or not.

((((hugs))))
Whitedove

Photos

I am visiting areas in my past that are of concern to me. I have posted the first on the Survivor Art Gallery and called it "Tree"

I am currently reading "Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence - from Domestic Abuse to Political Terror " by Judith Lewis Herman, M.D.