Queen of my Paradise,
The lands you keep run wild with berries
That pop hot in the sun, stains spreading into wicked smiles
Red, purple, pink and black
They sit buzzing in the grass
And jump onto the feet of passersby
They are marked by you
And happier for it,
For even weeds of your making
Sprout flowers whose heads turn up, triumphant,
And laugh at the sky.
Queen of my Paradise,
Your heart beats slow
At the center of an old tree,
Rooted stubbornly in the rocky place
No one meant for it to grow.
Its skin is a tough, ragged bark that shows
Unabashedly,
Every cut, every dent, every attempted breach.
And still, it throbs as if it had been born anew.
Your heartstrings, sinewy and many-tendriled,
Stick out and lay across the bodies of all
Who pass you.
They reach, stretching far and thin, as spider’s web
And even the most careless of hands have yet
To snap them free.
The Queen of my Paradise–
Who has wrenched up
The roots of her Pain,
Who has formed
Nobility and Grace
From Dirt–
Holds a secret under her tongue.
Her teeth hold it back
But the words peak between,
For she is eager to tell you
Everything she has ever felt and heard.
She wants to beat the riddle of Life
With you,
Sharing her happy failures
And small triumphs.
She holds them in her hands
Like shells or gems
Kept after a long and thoughtful Walk.
She doesn’t know the Answer,
Not yet,
But as I look behind her eyes
I can see the Hope that burns away those hints of darkness.
She holds the Light
That will Illuminate the Truth;
Beyond her eyes lie the gateways to heaven,
Grander than the Paradise
That blooms in rippling patches beneath her feet
As she walks, laughs, breaths.
Queen of Queens,
Keeper of the Garden,
You are the Answer.
You hold the perfection,
Its lock and its key.
I hope,
In some offhand reflection,
You might pause, be still,
And recognize the Gate.
Gorgeous!