Pricked in the Desert

For every quill a bruise does grow
& If you are pricked it only does show
That somewhere in the past or near present
A heart was torn & left in the desert.

A cruel walk it was to return among people
To find you could not access love in the steeple
So outside you stand, your quills poking out,
If anyone came near, they would soon give a shout.

Prick them you may, though you hardly mean it.
You just want someone to take the time to see it.
Through love, patience, & compassion.. a saint will come near
And love you, despite you, and tell you; you are dear
In time a trust relationship will take an effect
And pulling the quill, you will no longer reject.

Wounded, hurt, & bruised ones, come unto me
It is my heart's desire, to see you set free.

Once you are healed & free to love once again
You will see the hurt ones from the way that they stand
You become the saint, that knows how to give
Unconditional love and freedom to live.
Nonjudging, yet strong in your personal walk
You lead by example not just talking the talk.

Love pours out from you, and prick you they might
Instead of reacting, you put up no fight.
You tell them of God's love & of One deep within
that sees the beauty of what they can become
And a LIFE, if so chosen, they soon can begin.
~HB Cher

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