Tuesday, November 30, 2010

branches and fruit

You have fruit growing out of your head, figs in your heart, apples in your hand.
You are abundant like I've never known, joyfully rooted in a Strongman's land.
You are like shade of green leaf and rubber, your sight is a refreshing scene.
You are like lifeblood bursting forth, producing fruit that is rich and clean.

But I am like a branch in winter, barely holding deathly things.
I cannot bud or fruit or blossom a fraction of what your branches bring.
My heart is like an apple core, my arms are barren, shriveled trees.
I cannot move for I am frozen, unshaking in this winter breeze.

I wonder why some are given more sun and some more wind and rain,
For wherever shoots sprout, they are pregnant and full with a hope that they'll sprout again.
"Abide in Me, abide in Me, as I abide in you,"
These things you whisper longingly to my very favorite tune.
And I am hungry for your fruit, I never taste enough.
For I grow nothing on my own, not even this skin so worn and rough.

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