WRATHFUL LOVE
When love arrives
It is not the sugary sweet thing we imagine
Nothing insipid or full of show
It is the thunder crash of the heavens
The lightning strike of the Gods
The ferocious cry of a bereaving mother
The howling of the wolf in the dark forest
And the demand for truth
Tender, wild, destructive, creative, wrathful and soft
It cannot be measured by mind’s deceptive ways
For the mind that imagines it is supreme and unassailable
Must itself surrender to something greater
And that is the love out of which everything arises.