My Lover

This poem, by Martha McClure, deeply touches my heart.  Her spirit and creativity inspire me.  In this moment, Awareness recognizes Itself.  I believe her Lover is My Lover too.

(My Lover reprinted with permission from author Martha McClure)

My Lover
My Lover is the most patient, persistent, and generous of souls.
My Lover unceasingly showers me with unending treasure in infinite forms.
Hear the turn of tires on the damp morning pavement? That’s my Lover.
Smell that hint of leaves drying in a clump under the Beech in the middle of the yard? That’s Him too.
He’s coming to me on the breeze through the branches and glancing off my cheeks and lips.
He’s tangled in the laughter and screams of children postponing their departure from the playground.
He’s caught as the reflection of the brilliant blue sky on the drop of rain clinging desperately to the rusted fence.

My Lover doesn’t know ‘no,’ He hears only ‘yes!’ and ‘more.’
He invites me to open, sometimes gently, sometimes violently.
He implores me to let go, resist no more.
Yet He is never discouraged nor disappointed.
Never depleted nor distraught.
He discovers my secret hiding places and slides silently in through the shadows to find me.

My Lover hosts no conditions, no expectations for my engagement.
He comes and comes and comes again.
He will let me rest but will not let me sleep.
The more I recognize my Lover, the more thunderous He grows.
The more petulant my vision, the more painful His presence.
My blindness, my deafness, my numbness becomes my desperation.

For my Lover reveals Himself equally in my longing as He does in my ecstasy.
And He shines brilliantly in the Knowing.

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