The Blood-Stained Bride

You look so beautiful in white, my love, my dear.
You look so beautiful in the garment of praise and thanksgiving.
You look so beautiful in that dress, my darling —
why come running? Are you running away?

And then it dawned on me.
What happened to my bride?
What happened to the woman who pledged her allegiance?
What happened to the woman who pledged her lifelong commitment?
Why is she running away?

I came running after her, looking for her…
but I could not find her.
Where is she, my beloved, in all these chaos under the sun?
And what of these trails of blood she shed?
And what of these stains of blood in her then-garment of praise?

I traveled mountains and valleys,
ran coasts and hills,
I crossed the seas and rivers
and rummaged forests — where is she?

Until I found her in a cave.
She was grieving.
She was crying her heart out.
She was wearing the wedding dress —
once pure, now stained with blood.

I came close to her, wiped her tears away.
She could not stop crying.
Her eyedresses have ruined her face.
She was miserable.
She looked lovely no more.

But I loved her.
I took her in my arms and held her close to my heart.
She felt ashamed, embarassed, guilty.
She was unfaithful.
“But Gomer, I love you, regardless.
Now come home.”
She continued grieving.