My efflorescence sings on the ground.
The loathsome oak leans low to listen.
Aching branches hang heavy;
love’s burden, unfurling,
spiral breathlessly, fanning glory.
Each burst fades, tumbles,
feeds life back to the giver.
Am I loved if I shelter myself
beneath the lightening-ravaged trunk?
Miraculous droplets of clear purity
descend on unprotected chin,
knowing I’m an unrepentant sinner
’til the day I spoil the ground
with my own decay.
Am I loved, if I don’t lend my instrument
to harmonize with your golden voice,
a wholesome symphony, cascading over mountains
meant to spare my dry, forgotten valley?
I tell you I’m not worthy of you,
returning your ‘heartfelt,’ echoing praises.
Yet, I will stand on my heart
just to hear your proclamations,
lifted higher by the faintest of nurturing words.
I gravitate to the hopeful heavens
to commune with a lasting felicity.
I have known love of the most immaculent perfection
unlike the oily, piteous contempt that in veil slithers about.
But, I am as simple as dirt,
pale as death with two pink lungs.
I return to sit on scorched grass
beneath that withered tree,
thriving high on faithful bluff,
thread-like roots yearning
God’s tender mercy and the only reward
one solitary man can humbly receive.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This poem got its start thanks to one random message from a member of my writing community, saying “You are loved, my Friend.”
Then, the original poem, ‘Am I Loved?’ was spawned, raw and unedited, in my blog before I edited it for structure, grammar and length. We can inspire one another here. Interaction is important to kindle writers’ fires. There is no telling what beauty can bloom if we spare a few words for one another, now and then.