Thursday, July 22, 2021

(from Zechariah 2:5)

 the descending sunlight, glittering,

     falls
on the robust branches of a
     haphazard
collection of full trees and crawls
inward, toward the thick trunks
     gathered
as a defensive barrier behind my
     house.
United they stand, deflecting the
     sounds
of interstate exiting traffic.  They
    douse
the burning sunset as darkness
    surrounds.
The state highway headlights are
    swallowed
completely, shielding the windows
    from the disturbances
possible with each and every passing
    carload
as they pursue services and
    purchases.

But what about this heart of mine
under far greater threat than my
    abode?
For this darkened world is not benign
but, like cancer, forces the soul to
    erode.
More, a plague resides also inside me,
a deadly sickness common to all
carrying my personal death decree
and a sunset certain to fall.
There is a Wall to conceal behind,
a refuge and fortress in which to hide
-- the Maker of trees, the only divine,
the One who for me has died.
He stretched out His arms indeed
upon the cruciform, leafless tree
to rescue all of those in need,
those His love would sure set free.

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