I first wrote this poem in 2016, on April 1, and called it “April’s Fool.” My own personal experiences inspired the writing, though my experiences weren’t so blatant. Poetry is good for expressing the hidden or mysterious in obvious ways.
He comes in warmth and beaming smile to rouse her from her rest,
and in his heat she’s soon beguiled to give him all her best.
By showering her with full attention, gentle fingers trace her skin,
he melts her bare of all protection and she yields to let him in.
First petals open, tender green exposed and willing fruit,
all excited readiness is she, trembling from tip to root.
And then, as quickly as he came with sun and song to take her to his heart,
as fast he leaves, abandons her, and, with him, all her stays depart.
Vulnerable now to cold and wind, which threatened not when she was veiled,
she longs for shelter once again, the blooming bud now hard and paled.
Too soon she left the feathered nest, too soon she sprouted from the soil,
she jumped at shining thrill’s behest, no thoughts of risk, nor strife, nor toil.
Lust masqueraded as love and pleasure as joy,
and now the bounty of her harvest is victim to his ploy.
Fooled was she, her blossoms, tricked, are spoiled by the travesty;
recognition came too late. Full penitent is she.
Real Love waits, and she will bide, bowed and broken by her shame,
in hope that Beauty Pure shall rise … when He but calls her name.
© 2021 Christina Chase
Although crippled by disease, I'm fully alive in love. I write about the terrible beauty and sacred wonder of life, while living with physical disability and severe dependency. A revert to the Catholic faith through atheism, I'm not afraid to ask life's big questions. I explore what it means to be fully human through my weekly blog and have written a book: It's Good to Be Here, published by Sophia Institute Press.