Redemption

CATEGORY

life

I am handled with kid’s gloves

at the end of ten foot poles

as if I plot to stab your heart

only to draw blood from your soul…

Your loving soul, now wounded,

spills love like a trail of pouring pain

over treacherous terrain

not yet washed away by rains of time and tears.

Although storms cleared

when I appeared on your horizon,

twice shyness in your glare –

I sensed you feared I might be like men from your past –

pursuing aesthetics to smash

instead of substance.

With ears of empathy I hear your pleas

and lay assumptions

at the walls of your defensiveness.

Make camp and listen close.

Offer nothing but a shoulder.

Keep my thoughts trapped in my throat against my nature,                                                                      

as it takes the strength of ten to bridle tongue

and realize if you want answers from a man

you’ll ask for some.

So in lotus position I sit and I listen,

realigning my chakra system to your frequency.

Tuning in as your wounded spirit speaks to me

of trust, honor and loyalty,

of your lineage of royalty.

Teach me the intricacies of your dialect at your pleasure.

Seek in me the curator for the splendor of you treasure,

Train me with nurse’s skills to aid in stitching holes

men unworthy of your mercy’s tenderness left in your soul.

Let me bathe your mind with ideas

rich in essences of fruit.

(Not syrupy sweet words of deceit,

but the balanced flavor of truth.)

A dash of salt – it sometimes burns cut flesh,

but in the end delivers

succulence like salt in cocoa –

truth will neutralize the bitter-ness of taste

deception leaves in its wake.

Can you believe in men again?

Let me redeem my gender.

Queen, believe in me

-HymnAgen