What was it that you saw in me, battered and ruined as I was?
There was little left in the husk of a being who had forgotten how to dream and who was so very startled
to have visions of spirit return at all and then you –
you, so bold and living and full of every passion –
who came warring through my despair and would not look away.
Why, I ask, even now,
still struggling to trust that I could be worth your time
did I earn your patience and impatience,
your laughter and your strength?
How could I possibly have merited that
all encompassing fury and the rage,
rage on my behalf,
rage of such magnitude inspired by my sorrow
rage that was the only thing that ever could have proven how desperately
I needed to break from chains of self-loathing,
Break from the power of one who controlled and abused,
Break from a life that was lived only for lack of caring,
Break from the preference of perhaps not living at all.
Was I worth the effort, Father?
I hope, I pray, that the answer is yes.
For there was so little hope of any kind before you came,
So little of me left to dare consider such a concept.
Now I dream again and it is not startling.
I dream of a future of serving You,
A present of protecting others in Your name.
I hope that I might share some small portion of the fire
you returned to me with those who wander in darkness.
Burning brightly enough to help them seek
whatever light this world might yet provide.
This will be brief, my gods,
As I am tired and worried and stressed
And sleep is the best remedy for all.
But I have faith that you will protect zir from zir sorrow.
I have faith that you will help her keep going after her loss.
I have faith that he will one day play again without pain.
I have faith that you will help me find the right balance of asking for help and keeping things private.
I have faith because I love them all too much to do otherwise.
I have faith because Your presence has carried me this far to aid myself and provide aid in turn.
I believe because the alternative is terrifying.
Difficult though it has long been to trust, I must trust in this.
It is good to close my eyes and remember that the core of me
Those several ageless pieces which drive daily aging flesh
Remains healthy and unhindered, and that when You look
You as one small piece that represents the enormity I could not wholly withstand
You see only life, loyalty and my intent.
You see me and then stand embodied:
human and sha-faced, or hound-bodied and sleek,
knowing before I do which aspect will best match my inner form this day.
Shall we walk as Father and child, me in white,
your red beads at my neck, dark spear in my hand?
Shall we run as hounds through the desert
Swifter than the horses that draw chariots before other gods
amused by later human invention?
Or perhaps we shall hunt as both and then neither,
the soul of the red god unbound by any rules of form,
While the voice of His daughter rings with laughter
alive and mad with the rush of the storm she gladly rides.