(A thought from the far side of infidelity)
I am a tree uprooted;
a tall pine who could not bend
and so I fell,
and, in my falling,
tore branch and limb
from the forest around me.
“Stay my fall!” I cried.
“Teach me to bend, I beg you!”
But my heart is pine,
Lofty and stiff are my branches
and my unbending heart weeps alone.
I lie here now
on the softened needles of my defenses.
Feeling the ache of brokenness,
the agony of imperfection,
gazing at the sky I scorned.
My roots are cut off from the earth.
They rise above me, naked and exposed.
I cannot plunge them back into
the soil of my beginnings.
The earth disdains them.
Will I be left here to decay?
Or with what shall my brokenness be healed?
Am I to be fashioned for some further use?
c.2011 from SPLINTERS OF LIGHT, Donna Swanson