My Wounded One

Oh, my
wounded one, how
I ache for you;
I have no balm, 
no release,
no redemption to offer.

You close your
window-shade eyes and
the storm wails black
inside you;
you fear it makes you trite,
but the rain inks down your face
when you think I can't see.

At my touch
you recoil: 
no comfort there;
I know you think yourself
undeserving,
low.

My sad one,
please hear just these
three questions, from
one casualty
to another:

How can I show you
you're bowed, but not
broken?

How can I show you strength 
when I'm damaged goods
myself?

How can I turn your face
toward tomorrow?

I may not 
believe in it yet, either,
but when daylight comes,
you'll wake to find me 
here beside you.

(C) 2014 by Rosetti C.
Translunary Things
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2 Comments

  1. Pratyusha

     /  April 20, 2014

    Teared me up. Lovely.

    Like

    Reply

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