a den of lions

i am bent and broken
like a gentle reed in fields of wild wind,
and the harsh rain washes over,
forcing me to bend and break again

i am bent and broken
as a man trying to become a lover,
and this path has found me,
it beckons me to bend and break yet again.

for the heart is not made in the comfort of houses and shelters,
it is made for the riskiness of the open territories

it does not belong in the safety of our own hands,
but in the vulnerability of another's

it does not grow within a nest of protection
but in a den of lions.