the descending sunlight, glittering,
fallson 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.
No comments:
Post a Comment