ONE TREE (RE-POST)

 There once was a tree, though it could be you/me, standing alone in the cold with burdens untold weighing it down and keeping it tied to the ground but it soon came to pass that the sun, in the silent manner of love, warmed from the inner out and it looked to the sky blue and alive and knew of a power on high.

It uplifted itself from pain, from realms not meant to be seen, and it heard in the wind a whisper to grow and enfold God’s love in its being.  It heard and it knew but the world wasn’t new and everything stayed the same till lightening from God struck the core of its soul and moved it close to the sea.

It watched the waves, saw pleasure and praise, and asked that it too be set free, yet still its roots were sunk in the sand in the middle of no-man’s land.  And there it was left to suffer and grow till it bent its leaves to the sea and the sea in response crept nearer and near to the tree grown older alone.  

Sea laps at the roots of that lonely tree and swells with the weight of its tears till the tree in full obedience leans yet further towards the sea.  I can see it, can feel it, getting wet and wetter from the spray of how it must be and there will come a day when the sea rises up and the tree will find a new home.  

It waits and it listens, it learns and it grows, it blossoms the rose of its soul, so all who pass by can smile and say they know where it’s going to go.  It will go, it knows, but God sets the pace and prepares a new bed for the tree but the tree, or you/me, must still shade the path of those traveling towards the sea.

Close to the sea stands one beautiful tree for God has given it soul to feel and embrace the stars in the sky as its very own paradise.  There will be more, so very much more, both pleasure and pain alike, until the sea covers the tree like God’s love has covered you/me – always it seems for how can He leave what He has created to be whether a tree or only “you/me” who one day will reach  the sea!     

Crown

 

When that gypsy grew old and her wagon decayed
the world as she knew it had nothing to say
so she breathed in the air and looked here and there
to find that illusive crown of contentment.
 
When the search was complete her eyes lifted up.
Perhaps way up high beyond her eyesight
or buried maybe in the bowels of the earth
and then the tears fell from that gypsy grown old.
 
She can’t travel high, she can’t travel low,
and she can’t resurrect the sadly decayed
and she wondered how to ever give up
her quest for that most amazing crown.
 
But the sound of silence had plenty to say
and she listened like gypsies are prone to do
until finally, finally, the words “make your own”
cavorted and danced demanding attention.
 
So she settled in with needle and thread
and a pattern made up with the years of her life
and she knew that soon, maybe sooner than then,
she would wear her own crown of contentment!