Wounded

There is nothing attractive
In the unblemished.
There is neither allure,
Nor seduction in perfection.

Give me the wounded …
The bruised and tried.
For, in her testing,
Legitimate beauty is born.

In her wounding, her palette
Of “life-colour” is opened.
The texture of her “life-tapestry”
Has depth and contrast added.

In her wounding, the One
Being prepared for Me,
Is making responsive choices
That give rise to awe-inspiring Character.

My yearnings will never be placated
By image or performance.
These are quickly diluted
Under my unflinching gaze.

While the rich breadth and depth,
of her trial-created hues, will become brilliantly clear.
And her election to assume humor and mirth
Will gladden and inspire my heart.

I will know an enveloping comfort and rest,
In the contrasting and harmonious textures of her dimensions.
As I cloak my spirit’s desires, for warmth and serenity,
In the folds of that fabric, woven of fibers of her pained past.

All made possible for and available to us,
By our individually known litanies
of conflicts, battles, neglects, and agonies.
Made possible by our yesterdays … and our today.

We are, even now … being made ready for each other.
And I pray Life’s provision of ultimate reward for the Wounded.
As well as safety, respite, and encouragement,
For her … in her struggles.

That we may both know
The serene bliss and joys
Of a shared future, lit by the promise,
Of the consummate love of One … also wounded.

John-Michael
23 February 2008