No need for shallow chest breath
I am safe
I can breathe through my belly
Deep, becoming regular
Soothing, smoothing, slowing
No need for organised thought
I am shielded
I can relax into this place
Calm, becoming gentle
Softening, swaying, sliding
No need for clock watching
Dali time only
I can exist, chrono-sheltered
Now, becoming ageless
Melting, muting, morphing
Here…
A door with round window
Mellowing to Renoir-lens
Glossy, smudgy, charm
Hobbit-style architecture
Familiar, shire-y, amiable
Lit warm and soft
A brown carpet bag
Caressing the rich pile
Sturdy, salvaged, true
Tardis-like inner structure
Dependable holder, infinite
For weights and woe
Smooth, even, stone stairs
Descending in timeworn strength
Secure, bendless, cool
Delivering, guiding journey-way
To ease and mend
I tender-lift my bag
Zip open for a prize
On every step
Each stair a healing game
The bag a hungry friend
To hold my heavy goods
And bare them strong for me
As I descend
Step one is for fear
Two for screaming
Three for ache
with blurred-out meaning
Four for panic
Five dark-dread
that slither-twists through sleep in bed
If guilt is six
Then shame is seven
long blame-soaked school without a lesson
Eight for pleading
Nine for weeping
Ten for wounds, and burns, and bleeding
The bag now zipped, trapped weights and woe,
is set down gently, as I go
All grateful heart, and kindess-eyed
Door opens as
I walk outside