Sprouting
My eyes drift open; here again
Silence rustles, and I fear
Although I know that good dwells here
I’ve been here often to this glen
Though yet foreign, yet I feel
That here am I allowed to heal
My fingers rub the squeaky grass
I slowly sit and breathe no air
I worry nonexistent hair
And take off blinding eyes of glass
They serve no purpose in this place
Save poorly to adorn the face
The hand of him, invisible
Takes and pulls my asking hand
And steadies me until I stand
My weakness is permissible
So long as I rely on him
Though yet I loathe my strength so slim
I peer and glance away in shame
From trees concealing what I want
Secrets that, if mine, would haunt
Still, longing for them wracks my frame
I scold myself and turn around
To where he sits without a sound
He smiles, waiting, every day
I come most nights, I warrant not
As often as I truly ought
His faithfulness does not decay
Deprived of sight, my mind yet knows
He warmly beckons to come close
I sprint and leap and scale the rock
My muscles flex to spite the slant
Remind me why the view enchants
Because I strove to beat what blocked
He chuckles at my antics, then
He hugs me tightly once again
He has no scent yet smells like home
His arms are strong and yet controlled
I’m safe, protected in his hold
His love makes me ashamed to roam
He plants a kiss upon my head
It roots there as I lie in bed
There in the refuge of my soul
I rage until my breath is spent
And weep as though the world were rent
He quietly remakes me whole
His silence chides me for my wrongs
But comfort then the peace prolongs
The kiss he planted has set root
A love begins to bud in me
A spindly, young but sturdy tree
That one day will bear healthy fruit
It is not to fruition yet
But his kindness – how could love forget?