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Poem
While traveling along an unfamiliar path
I was caught off guard by your beauty
I stopped the Jeep to get a closer look
But noticed The Master was still on duty

I pondered at your color and fullness
Wondering why you had not yet been enjoyed
But saw Him drawing near to me
So quickly moved on to be totally annoyed

He came after me because He saw my heart
And said I could not have you as my own
You belonged to another gardener
Who chose to let you shine…ALONE!

He said I could have any of the fruit
Bagged and ready for the taking
I acted uninterested and aloof
But He knew…..
		I wanted to give that tree a good shaking

I woke up from my dream and found my heart
Faltering at the sight of you
Oh, to have plucked and tasted your flesh
To have touched your morning dew

To have squeezed you to emptiness
And drown in the fruit of your soul
Coward, cowardly I am
How could I just turn and let you go

You are my Sodom and Gomorrah
And I have become a Pillar of Salt
You are the pleasure I can no longer look upon
My wanderings have seized and I am the fault

If your member offends you
Pluck it out
I wished to God I could gouge out my eyes
I pant for your form
I long to peel away your layers
And sink me teeth in what my flesh denies

To be blinded 
Would do me no good
For I have seen the fulfillment of my desire
Your time of plucking has passed
And you remain a treasure on her tree
But, I alone, hold the secret of your fire

I will work the land
I will put my hand to the soil
And grow the passion that has been awaken
I am a slave bound to work
For the fruit of my labor assigned to the sloth
But the oil of my heart will never be taken


Written by Trudy Schrader on 02-12-11




Note: I mixed this one up a bit. I hate making poetry behave. I want to see what the
message of my soul has to say. I can't do that if I stuff it in a frame and make it behave
in some form. I'm a verbal processor, so once I see what is going on in heart, I can deal
with the issue...and the last stanza sums it up. Sometimes intimacy isn't for the
enjoyment of the Love it produces but the passion that will produce more.
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