Fertile Soil

2005 - 2006

Leaves, according to the wind, blow

To the resting place fate has prepared

For them, there is no choice

Only a journey to be taken

So, what then, is our excuse

When we have pity upon ourselves

For the roads we have taken

And the lives we have led since

Peace, like Heaven, is above wisdom

Hope is to have but the slightest glimpse

Of such a face like His face

Expressing the heart it owns

And the hardened hearts it now sees

Sees but a fragmented stone

Splitting in the spaces were water froze

Scattering sin amongst the world

God, unlike season, remains

Planting Himself in any fertile soil

The world has yet to contaminate

With self-pity and sin

There is separation of Creator and Created

Until the healing words escape

The Created’s broken heart, and slips

Into the Book of Life, by the Creator’s grace

View wishful_thinking's Full Portfolio