Song of a Warrior's Bride

Song of a Warrior’s Bride He counts on me for beauty: His eyes blurred by bloody spurts of war, Scarred by deadly blasts of bone And tissue, his vision marred By chunks of men that shook him down Into the oozing mud of sorrow, And unscrewed the sockets of his soul, Blasting windows that once shone luminous, Into dark pools of madness, mocking The watch he had to keep that night. He stopped his ears against The final cries of men turned babes, Moaning for mama or a medic, Gasping for a hand upon their head, As prayers and curses were sucked From bodies by the piercing blows Of guns, while rockets puked Hellish flames that blotted Out the stars, until darkness Swelled into a symphony of pain, And his heart choked with agonies He could not stop to heal. I have learned to fasten his gaze With the soft gauze of understanding, A fabric thrown across the room, Rich with memories between us, Like rose petals sweetening the air. I can still delight his eyes and lure him From the tangled jungle pits he digs And show him patterns of new mercies, That reveals the hidden weaver of our days, The keeper of our steps upon this turf Of life, turned gentler now. I drape and wrap, twist and thread My warless arms around him, Still fingering the loom of prayer. Murmuring vows over his embattled brow, I draw him underneath our tent, pitched In the heat of hard fought love.