I, Love, feel your pain

and understand your fear.

I’m here as your cane

and will always be near

and here.

I see you dangling

high from cliff of Homeland.

You think rocks you cling,

but holding you is Hand.

Love’s Hand.

I am a stranger to you.

Sometimes you want to know me

and other times you withdrew.

Peace. I hear your quiet plea,

and will set you free.

For the strength of love

is freedom. And as your

hand reaches for love,

the old you that you wore,

is no more.

But this cliff you think

is your home familiar.

You feel on the brink

yet you know not better.

Life’s blur.

Your grip has tired and you scream.

“Something better, please!” you cry.

Your hand awares to my dream.

Your grip strengthens and your eye

rests to my lullaby.

Feeling better you

succumb and engage

to this new stage too.

Until again you rage

for change.

The pain of hanging

is still separating,

but now there’s less divergence,

and more emergence

of love’s sense.

Step by step, rock over rock,

and hand greeting hand, will raise

you above stumbling block.

Each time learning more of love’s praise,

until all love rays.

I understand it takes time

for you to be ready.

I will wait and aide your climb

whenever you are ready.

You’ll know love steady.

I know you’re worthy.

Behind your pain is truth

of love’s potential.

Beauty you are, made aware from trial,

and Love.

I know well enough

to see that past your rough

character is love

wanting to be free.

The love that you be

is the you whom I see.

So I will sit, wait and listen

as your tears and struggles pray,

and I will never, now or then,

tire my grip or lead astray.

Love is here to stay.

And I may duck, dodge or sway

as your angers and pains fray,

but I will never, today

or ever, let go of your hand.

Welcome to Homeland.

Welcome to Love.

Irene Arndt

Blessings,

Irene