You haunt me till I forgive

You haunt me till I forgive

I have hated you for so long

When you died I cried in fear

Or a release of all the fear I had.

I was still afraid you would come back

That you were not really gone.

I thought sometimes that I saw you around corners

Or in a dark Passage.

Always there was fear.

Years have gone by and you never came I knew you were dead.

I knew as an adult what my child’s heart could not,

That you would never hurt me again.

Then you were here out in the road.

Never near my home

Always outside my territory

A territory that I blessed to be free of fear,

A place of peace and safety.

But there you were

In the road

Waiting for me.

You called to me and I came to you

Never close to you I was still afraid.

All you required of me

All you were asking

Something I did not want to give

Something I needed more than you did.

You asked me to forgive

You asked me to let you go

To stop holding on to my hatred and fear

To let you go

For me to be free.

I turned away

But I stopped and said to you

“I forgive you, I am free.”

You never returned

And I am free.

copyright 2014  Leslie Whitcomb


Journaling and Poetry

I hate journaling. I am married to someone who writes all the time and I stand in awe and amazement at his journals and the amount of knowledge and wisdom he has amassed. I do not journal. To me it is an opening into a dark place that I do not want to go. But I do understand the awesome power of journaling. I am just afraid.

I used to write poetry all the time. I seriously mean all the time. And then I stopped. I began to be afraid of the dark places that exist in my mind. And yet when I write those dark places are quite so scarey. I have considered journaling again. But have opted instead for poetry. I am not about to break out inverse suddenly. But I have begun to find peace in poetry again. Not just writing it but in reading it and learning it by heart. There are many wonderful poets in the world. People that we know and are not famous. And famous poets. People who with words can stir our souls to new places. Or cause us to cry from the depths of emotions that are brought to the surface. Lately people like Mary Oliver have touched my soul. As well as people whose poetry I read on their blogs.

I am finding that words written with intent to heal can heal. And so this year I am starting to write again, and not just intermittently. And maybe find my voice again. And give voice to somethings that I have not wanted to look at. Or to things that I want to remember.