This Time

Feel the heart of me
at your feet
washing the dust away,
washing the wounds that reopened
unexpectedly;
such violence
is unforgivable.

The loneliness of pain
after silence is a crime,
the price of another unspoken war.

This time, let the poet speak.

This time, stand in the center of the village
with your fists raised and let anger glow
like an ember that will burn the fields
clear of the wonder and abundance.

This time,
let the truth of sacred words
gather their force
with an all consuming heat
hungry for more.

And when you return from the scorched battlefield,
I will gather you into my arms, weeping
for all you have seen.

The mind cannot be healed.

The heart is a patient lover
tenderly soothing the broken Beloved.