Beloved's Nightmare

Beloved’s Nightmare

hear my voice ringing across

many rippled oceans wide

see me standing atop highest

mountains’ snow capped peaks

feel my hands ever reaching

through the cloud sewn sky

taste my salty tears that burst

upon the cold dew stricken ground

I search among the forests

your cliffs ravines and lakes

where can I find my lover

Immanuel, my soul’s desire

in the night my spirit aches

you left my village early

before the moon had hidden

I failed to wait there ready

at the well - our trysting place

now shamed without you

shackles claim my wrists

of dark past life rewoken

come find me once more

pour out your wine extravagant

to brush upon my lips

wash out the bitter taste

of my unfaithfulness

these blind eyes long

to see your face next to mine

my deaf ears desire

to know your whisper against my cheek

my leprous hands tremble

in absence of your touch

my fearful soul unable move

to the tune you’ve written for me

my spirit is willing yet

my flesh is still diseased

you are my seventh man

I stand at the well incomplete

delirious for water from your palms

I wait

panting

to walk with you again

oh come

complete me heal me that I may be

faithful

at your side once more

that when and where you shall go

I should follow hand entwined

fingers locked in yours

never parting from your side

The Seventh Man (The Poem)

The Seventh Man

what brings her here under middle noon’s sun

 alone,

with cracked lips parched tongue and a jar

  empty,

to this her father’s well

through autumn’s harvest and spring’s new birth

her jar dips at Jacob’s cistern

thirsty hands grasp it hopeful

to satisfy        a heart’s yearning

                to bind up        wounds and scars

                            to refresh          a calloused soul

yet countless days she draws lukewarm stagnancy

with raised brow women whisper as she passes by

cynicism her shield drowns their sneers:

The Unfaithful.

                         The Shamed.

                                               The Whore.

judgment falls a javelin to pierce

The Bruised

but the bitter truth

her bride’s dream five times broken – she is:

The Tried and Used.

                                The Unwanted.

                                                        The Lacking.

dust dirtied cheeks sand clings

where once ran a stream of tears

from sunken eyes to gaunt sun-scorched skin

but today He rests there, waiting, knowing

He sees her mind’s ever playing cinema: from the first to the fifth

Abandoned

                   Rejected

                                  Dismissed

resigned to a sixth lover’s disgrace

unworthy to wear a wedding band

He calls

from the well-side offering his drink

a promise

within his cusped hand glows

would she trust him could she dare

with battered beaten heart shreds

with hardened spiteful soul

would he love her could he dare

to lay his pearls around her brazen neck

to clasp her dirty hand in his flawless ones

her story, hurt, desire, shame

lay open before his blinding sunlight

trembling she reaches out with

empty cusped hands

his words flow

his flood waters breach - break her proud walls

springs of living water cascading through her veins

breathing life abundantly she dips from her Father’s well

his embrace          satisfies her heart’s yearning

                     his gentle hands             heal her broken spirit

                                               his clear eyes            make her soul alive

waves of love quench for eternal time

collapsed at his feet her tears fall and rightly so

for she knows that he knows her

Imperfection

                      Unsightliness

                                             Stain

yet he sang softly

“let me fill your jar forever after

come away with me my bride”