Seed Bed
My mind fertile
Grows unplanted habituals
Among strange plants
I kneel to weed
The little shrubs
Of hate.
I do not plant
All that grows
But heart fertilize damp beds
With dark clouds of tears.
Memories has hidden rain
Floods that drown crops of joy:
The things I dream.
Wingless things,
Shadows of old dreams
That make fears sit up
And scream.
My mind a fertile place
Grows faith
Unweeded doubt thrive like spring
And I kneeling
Whisper
Prayers of repentance uprooting things
To keep my garden clean.
I pray the Holy Spirit
Rains
Tonight.
The roots of my faith struggle in the dry
Of soil and rough of stone
Where weed by design are better grown.
All growth is by water ruled,
I pray
I have soft clay
For the potter when He comes.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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