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
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