I wrote the following poem in 1997 while working with a client. Her past was characterized by incomprehensible abuse. The poem resonated deeply. An artist, she painted a picture to represent herself opening her own Pandora’s box to discover hope. She asked for permission for a copy of the poem I had shared with her. She used both in a public address wherein she shared her experiences of working through her past and her continuing transformation to a better place in life. I had the privilege of being asked to introduce her to her audience. She shared with a silent and captivated audience her powerful testimony of redemption. You literally could have heard a pin drop. I have shared the poem through the years with numerous others, client and non-client alike. It has resonated with most of them, too. Hope is critical. As Proverbs 13:12 tells us: “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life” (ESV).
Pandora’s Box
She, like Pandora,
Held a box.
She clutched it tightly,
Not wanting its contents
To be exposed.
To her utter dismay,
The box
Ripped from her grip,
Spewed forth its contents.
She was exposed.
Vile, ugly contents,
Pain, hurt, trauma.
Shattered control.
Hellish agony imposed.
Barely audible, at first.
A muffled whimper.
She did not want to hear.
It must not be.
It was dead she supposed.
The whimper grew louder.
The cries could not be stifled.
The inner-child was calling.
“Damn you”, she cried.
No longer composed.
“You betrayed me, I’m angry,
I hate you”, she moaned.
“Away, be gone, don’t haunt me”,
It was persistent and strong,
Doggedly pursuing.
“Damn you”, she protested.
I do not want you coming back.
You left so long ago.
You are foreign and I hate you.
Little by little,
She came to accept that
The inner-child wasn’t leaving.
Pandora had opened her box.
The vilest of contents spilled forth.
Hope cried out faintly.
Reluctantly, Pandora released it, too.
And, that made all the difference.
Richard L. Brewer
February 17, 1997
Mediocre Meanderings 