Bruised Fruit

I am bruised fruit like
A  peach that has fallen
From  a tree onto
Hard ground  and
Bruises its tender flesh
On  the stones. I have fallen
Hard and  long, I have
Rolled over rough
Roads  and my
Skin is bruised and torn, I am
Misshapen
But I have ripened on my
Journey and now
My  juice is sweet. I will be
As  nectar in his hand
When   he comes to me, and
Bids me give.  I have
Seeds  in me that must
Cut me  open in
Order  to be free and
Borne  upon the wind to
Chance  in corners
Tall and wide where
They  can split in turn,
And  grow  and         '•• •
Ripen  into root and
Shoot,  so from me
A  new  tree will rise
And  all my bruises
Will be justified, for the
Deed  involved the giving
Of  the self that others,
In  other times, might
Taste  the old
Sweetnesses that never die.
And  so tonight, I cry,
For  in my end is
New  life begun, and in my
Giving, all the bitter harvest is
Undone.

previous poem