An untitled poem from probably the late 1800’s. Sent to me by Susannah ………. Washington
Stress hooks its claws into the brain
creating false truths and unreal realities
to confuse, to assault, to breaking point
There’s no refuge in the past or future
The only answer? Breathe.
When thoughts spiral out of control
like a jet plane on a fatal collision course
there’s no respite and no saving grace.
When even sleep becomes a banned destination,
look to the place of salvation. Breathe.
Anxiety can build and surge in a flood
overwhelming rational ideas and calm.
Depression throws its hooks into the mind
and drags thoughts into the mud.
The perfect antidote? Breathe.
Focus. Not on the unchangeable past or on the unknown mist of the future
but on the now. The moment. Your breath.
Let it bring the calm that’s desperately needed.
The final answer? Breathe.
By Alistair
Note from Linda: When Susannah sent this to me, she told me she got it from a friend of hers who came upon it at her local library. This poem was written by an inmate from a prison in Dumfries, Scotland. No last name was included. However, Susannah continued that this poem has come to mean a great deal to her. She keeps a copy with her and reads it when she feels tense, angry, or overwhelmed by a situation. The photo she sent is one of her favorite places to sit and just breathe.