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?

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