Writings VI

The Thinking Tree

The Thinking Tree

I journeyed again
To that quiet spot
Where I set down my load
And wandered my thoughts.

Wiping sweat from my brow
I lounged in the shade
Of a stout, rustling friend
In a rich, verdant glade.

How many hours
Spent innocently,
With eyes half-shut
Did I bask in the breeze?

The world passed me by,
Time slowed to a crawl,
As I waited for answers
To ripen and fall.

Would they be bitter,
Or would they taste sweet?
Would they foretell
Of tasks I’d complete?

Perhaps I would taste
How my life could unfold:
Precious friendships and mem’ries
To be gilded with gold.

Or maybe I’d swallow
In disappointment and dread
One sour bite too many
And fear horizons ahead.

As I pondered my quandary
And dwelled on my fate,
A small thought struck me
And ceased my debate.

For then I remembered
A truth I’d always known:
That answers, like fruit,
Blossom all on their own.

Neither threats nor pleas
Nor vile malediction
Could hasten their ripening-
To say else would be fiction.

What answers it held
Were not yet meant for me.
I should merely trust in the One
Who planted that tree.

Its seed in due time
Would flower and grow
And provide me direction
Through life’s ebb and flow.

Yet the real fruit I sought
Would not be borne by a tree
But rather faith, hope and love
Grown within me.

This above all,
My earnest desire:
To walk humbly in truth
And do all He requires.


The Minotaur’s Apologue

Pity the poet
Too blind to see
The world as it is,
Not as he wills it to be.

Hearing the music
Of days long gone by,
His ears soundly deafened
To the end of replies.

No more the touch
Of sun-bathed fall
Where frequented mem’ries
Had last been recalled,

Where fragrant aromas
Passed thickets of stone
And wafted down gently
Where he still sat alone.

Since tasting defeat
Oh, its almondesque tang!
How initially sweet,
Yet now with sharp pangs

The senses are dulled
Yet stirred all the same,
By sojourns to freedom
Far from the fair flame.


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