Violence is an odd thing,
so many who enact it
are certain they are victims.
Angry, they strike those
that they perceive have something,
something they deserve,
but is denied to them;
by those that judge them unworthy.
As if they had spoken of their needs,
as if Love was an obligation,
as if they were entitled,
but had been deliberately cheated.
They demand that we see them,
that we forgive their violence
knowing it was only a cry of pain
inflicted by our inattention.
I would have seen you gladly
had you been here,
had you been open,
had you dared to trust.
If only you had accepted
my need to do what felt true
without assuming that anything
I had not offered,
was a declaration of your inadequacy.
Perhaps if you had been courageous enough to feel,
opened your heart widely enough to notice your own beauty,
you would have come as a friend, rather then a thief;
contributed to what we could share,
rather than attempting to destroy all that you wanted, but imagined you had been denied.
Now that you have shaped your isolation and rage,
enacted it that you might see it,
named yourself anathema;
Now it is true, I will not save you,
nor carry your anger on my body or in my heart.
Know that having come to no harm,
in an instant you could.
I am the Owl and the wolf.
I see through your darkness,
guard you though you are unaware, and separate you from the pack until you are well.
I will oppose your violence
with eyes that know no fear,
with strength that has no end,
with love that knows your heart,
And holds your soul sacred.
In the end if you sicken beyond healing
I will give you a piece of my heart and the tears
that are the price of sending you home.