REEDS

I thought my heart was a pillar
made from Heaven’s oak,
faith’s timber hewed from a divine lumber,
sturdy and unbending against any tornado,
engrained in my soul with roots that wouldn’t break,
giving a strength to withstand
what blew across my life
by the wafting whims of time’s whispers.

How I found fate’s flaring flights so forcibly bending
against the stalwart limbs spread in my spirit,
yielding to their tempest touches
while slowly my stricken and stiffen branches
bowed to the press of fortune’s gusts.

Was my cry unto the Lord
to know why this wavering wisp
had been swept through my life,
taking what was a towering support of my quintessence
and rendering it malleably to a day’s whirlwind.

Then came the resound of grace
a psalm of light unto my plea
that I would know in His eyes
within me was not a tree, but a pliable reed,
one that could reach out with compassion
to the brokenness of others
with eyes of love that accepted
each of us is a bruised stem
in need of His hand for support.