The Romantic's Gospel, Ch. 1 (Or: Outcrying Heart)

I yearn to fling myself as open as a floodgate before furious waters,
To embrace with the unending totality of my being
All who are lonely and wracked with pain;
All who are consumed with sorrows and tears;
All who have heretofore been fated
To be crushed beneath Life’s bootheel.

To bring them – fold them – into the greatest depths of my heart
That it may pulsate in resonance with their own
And with beats unmatched by even the thunder of cavalry
Impart into their core that they are LOVED.

Some may loathe to cry out or weep even a little
At the pain which penetrates their bones,
So convinced that to do so would be selfish
That they walk on shredded insides and shattered legs.

Some may shrink in shame,
Looking upon their flesh and seeing only the filth
Which has been flung at them by villains most heinous.
So long have they lived under such bombardment
That they crumple daily under its onslaught,
Looking upon themselves through tear-hazed eyes
Unable to tell their true self
Apart from the bitter, unfair projectiles.

For all of these and more
My heart cannot help but throw itself open to them,
To gladly, willingly boil over
And do its best to nourish,
To tend to what hurts and show to them their own loveliness
As well as this crooked human form is able.
They shall be shrouded in my four chambers,
Wrapped in soft refuge
And sheltered from the hateful blows rained upon them,
Come the fists from without or within.

Though they must one day rise and step out from me
Upon a road of their own making,
I shall stand by and keep warm my most beloved little ones.
Until this temporal body sheds its last ragged breath,
I shall stand forever ready,
Willing and able to be
The blanket upon their shoulders,
The fire in their hearth,
The hot meal in their belly
At the end of a long day in the cold.

I only wish that my memory may stand adequately in my stead
When I must in old age retire from this world.