Poetry

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Self-Preservation

Somewhere beneath the veiled picturesque scene
Lies a treasure so precious
That hardly has it been seen
By the naked eye revealed
Or the average person bare
Such a rarity is held reserved
Preserved with paneled glass not for share

For the touch that doesn't steal
And the lips whose kiss is real
For the love that's sure to last
For the hand that doesn't stab
In ice its frozen in the past
Held captive in the frightful shadows
As shame and loss and pain
Encircle it with robes of wounding briars
That caress it with their knives
With glistening teeth of accusation
With endless swords of condemnation
Wounding its weakened frame

Oh the precious gift of its love yet to be given
Such a fragrant vial of devotion still hidden
Such a longing for affection unfulfilled
Concealed behind the veil
That refuses to reveal its supreme beauty
For its tainted by the before
By memories it won't let go
Suppressed in the consciousness
of ever real such living nightmares

Let the nail that pierced the open hand
of the spotless Lamb pierce your soul
Let the love poured from the side of the gentle Lion
Anoint your wounds with oil and wine
Let perfection of desire knit whole with care
What the selfless one's have torn to shreds
And when the garment is knitted in place
with faultless stitch and free of frays
Draw nigh unto Him to remove the veil
His love is safe
His love prevails

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