It started off so small.
Really wasn't even noticed.
Soft layers that collected like fine dust.
Over time it developed like a seedling.
Roots dug deeper under the surface.
Decades it took to show its sapling.
By that point it was to late really.
The foundation was solid before any realised.
Beyond measure the spiritual had hold.
Many attempts to dig deep to excavate.
Always fruitless as it grew back.
How frustrating when it was not wanted.
Stubborn it still grew breaking resistance.
Fondness for its presence grew unknowingly.
The soft brushes of the young sappling. Spread.
Conscious pruning at junctions to cut it back as rebellion took hold.
Many years of neglect caused the flowers to wither.
Still the roots lay but dormant for the slightest nourishment.
Always on the side of awareness.
Adapting over time to dig deeper but not sprouting.
When the gardner has no more fight it grows.
To distracted by the howling winds it goes unnoticed by them.
The stumbling to the floor and the sappling clings to the fallen host.
It burns as it spreads it vines as it injects a spiritual substance into the being.
Agony and pain follow as attempts to pull away are feebly made.
A soft wind hushes the frantic screams.
Softly pointing out that 'all wounds are agony when treated'.
This is the sign of cleansing in the aftermath of healing.
A single sentence sounds 'Hang in there my Child, it will ease'.
Torn spirit crying out from the bitter treatment as the sappling drives deeper.
It's vines withdraw clean like the surgeon knife.
Softly entwined together they close the around the wounds, sheltering them from the elements.
Strength pores from the connection like a blood infusion to the spirit so finally the soul can rest.
This is the touch of our Lord And Saviour.
Roots unwanted but never faltering was His safety net that fed our souls.
It is His power that stirred into our beings when they rebelled in pain because of the contrary nature that our souls lived in.
Never gone but may be forgotten by the host, it awaits until the day we truly are lost to ourselves to save us if we can but hold on past the healing pain.
Written Feb 17, 2015
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Snapshots of Pain, Grief And Loss
PoetryA selection of where the darkest/loneliest/grieving ruminations and experiences from different time periods in life have been placed. Warning Triggers! It is not for light reading and if your in a dark place, please avoid. This book comes in three...
