Peek-A-Boo 3

“I am the vine,

and my father the gardener.

He cuts off every branch that bears no fruit,
while ever branch that does bear fruit,
he prunes
so that it will be even more fruitful.”
This pain is not your own,
but the pain of pruning,
bestowed upon you,
within the Body,
by a consciousness of infinite wisdom,
purposefully,
intentionally,
targeted.
This pain,
these pains,
are rewards for trust
in who you are,
and who you shall be.
The prunings are badges of honor,
glories within the vine,
reaping fruit unimagined
in years to come

rikworld (rhixs@hotmail.com)

It is not my place to question God
and that I should even consider the thought
that passes momentarily through my awareness
makes me feel guilty, ashamed, a betrayer
of a truth I know in my soul is real.

Yet still I have to wonder, Lord,
why did you make me feel this love
only to deny me reciprocity?
You can be cruel but not necessarily.
Did I just win your holy lottery?

Fives again, I see patterns exploding
and mind wants to take them, restrain
them from fully unveiling themselves
but soul is hungry, needs to know
a light that cannot be put into words…

View original post

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Mick On Everything

Just a regular guy who is interested in everything

Wherever you go, there you are.

And here I am, Judith Clarke, writer.

HASTYWORDS

Turning Tears & Laughter into Words

A Word From The Raven's Beak

Or whatever I came up with whilst eating cereal this morning

t h i n g s + f l e s h

lyrical essays on songwriting + other mysteries

Syl65's Blog

Poetry, creative writing and a desire to inspire..... Isaiah 40: 31 But they who wait upon the Lord will get new strength. They will rise up with wings like eagles. They will run and not get tired. They will walk and not become weak..

Words are mighty

poems, and poems again

Itty Bitty Journeys

Epic Tales of Tiny Adventures

michaelalexanderchaney

literary fictions, flashes, fiascos

All That I Love

Because Writing Is Therapy

poetry by skull

The Musings of N. E. Skull

kellygemmill

The heart has to be able to act against itself. (m.m.)

A Holistic Journey

Finding my way back out of motherhood -- while mothering

Experimental Fiction

"Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of pure imagination" Willy Wonka, 1971

Just breathe.

Life is beautiful. And there is so much to be grateful for.

Ouroboros in Arkadia

A work in progress

Nathan Blixt

Art, Text, Code, Design

%d bloggers like this: