From the Wilds

They shall be mine, saith the Lord of hosts, in that day when I make up my jewels (Mal. 3:17). You combed the wide forlorn Wilds, up the mountains, down the valleys. You burrowed the rocks, searching for a glint of your lost treasure. You spotted a piece, a rusted piece like a stone, a gem, marred out of form: all grime, all dust, all filth. You saw the hidden spark in the inert piece. The smile on your face flashed a trace of love long lost. Yes, lost but not forgotten, but burned in the heart, bubbling. You made for the refiner's fire. No, the fuller's field, till at the furnace of love did the cleansing blood flow; washed and burnished, a sparkle! Here I am, yours alone: a jewel lost in the Wilds, restored in the furnace of love. I cuddle in your bosom—free. © 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi