Finding Trust Again

Trust came clothed in lamb's wool light,
soft as spring rain on thirsty stone.

I welcomed it as a harbor fire,
and fed its glow with all I'd known.

But hidden beneath its velvet grin,
like ivy threading through a wall,
it slipped its roots through cracks of doubt
until conviction stood to fall.

Then came betrayal, sharp and cold,
a serpent's fang beneath a kiss;
its venom seeped through memory's veins,
turning warm tomorrows into mist.
The heart drew tight like barbed wire pulled,
and every shadow wore a thief's face.

Each broken promise carved my ribs
like rusted hooks dragged through wet flesh;
faces blurred to masks of smoke,
and every handshake smelled of ash.

Trust's trickery is not the wound,
but gullibility left unhealed,
a gate unbarred, a watchman asleep,
a sword of judgment never steeled.

So I tempered belief like iron in flame,
learning to see without retreat.

Then one dusk, a stray dog lingered, hungry,
ribs thin as fence slats beneath its hide.
With patience, I offered bread and waited.
At last it crept forward, took the food,
and leaned into my trembling hand.
When I stroked its weathered head,
its wary eyes grew calm and bright.
I smiled, sighed deep,

and gave confidence in judgment a new start.