My experience with doubt is contrary to Emily Dickinson’s. Here’s my poem. In the frame is Dickinson’s.

Out, damned Doubt —
Be gone, wicked Thief —
Murderer, maimer, usurper —
Master of Deceit.
You corrupt Contentment —
Trespassing where you please,
Invading home and heart,
And plundering Peace.
Your free flight is my free fall
Cleaving my thinking of Clarity —
Oh cruel mind that breeds Doubt —
I need some motherly Charity.


Composed on March 4, 2017 – eleven days after my beloved dog Pasu died.

Here’s a different take on doubt, by Emily Dickinson:

Doubt 2
A doubt if it be Us