Be-loved

A whispered word from a willing wonder
sans haste, sans time, sans any blunder
to strip the word of what it means,

has echoed into my chambers freely
to bind my wounds and seek to heal me,
mending pieces torn asunder.

A flower, quaint in its calm quintessence,
blossoms gracefully ‘neath whipping winds
to invigorate the senses,

spreading gentle reminders of highlands
more rarified than low simple plains
though in essence they’re much the same.

A tourniquet to help stop the bleeding
that flows from my eyes in forceful weeping,
this heart cauterized ‘fore it dies,

and a simple word with a grand surprise
to dismantle deception and lies
sprouted from the smallest seedling.

Through muck and mire and heartache we trudge
with eyes like windows to soulish stains
that enervate the soil in blood,
and all the while we ignore in vain
the only whispered word we seek: “Be-loved.”