Thursday, February 15, 2007

The Garden

So yesterday I posted my second poem written last week. Today's poem I wrote Monday of last week. It was a monumental day for me in that I am grappling some deep feelings within my heart and—to a lesser extent—also here out in the blogosphere. I have been doing this for months now since last October which was accentuated with the writing of The Window. The Monday before last was a very busy day, a meeting to sort these feelings out, the first speech for my Speech Comm. class, and then other classes afterward.

After this first discussion, I felt a great deal of relief to start to put these feelings to rest, to move on from feelings first felt and emotions that I haven't had in years. So much so it moved me again to reflect on what had been welling beneath the surface. The fact of the matter is that one cannot leave feelings alone to fester because if it does those initial feelings start to morph from their innocent beginnings to something altogether different...and not always in a good way.

These past months have been something altogether different and something so great, but at the same time there's something that's been amiss. Below is the poem I wrote to close these feelings I've had within me. Like a caged dove, I'm letting it go...slowly.

It is a pain not to let my feelings for her come fully out in the open. Something inside of me yearns to let them flower in the open. However, I am not that kind of person. It's not me to want to draw attention of that nature out into the open.

All that my feelings are capable now of doing are endangering something that I have prayed over and know in my heart is right. These words might speak of a lack of self-esteem, but it isn't that in actuality. It is the acceptance of the fact that I should not break the trust of a friendship...even if it it's to the detriment of my own self esteem.

What a mess have I've gotten my heart into, and somehow God will work this out in His own time, I know. It's patience that I need for His Will to be fulfilled. These thoughts are what I attempted to capture in words. I would even venture to call it a prayer in my search for "the Other" and to close the book on these feelings.

The Garden

A grove of oaks
Stands stoic amid a field.
Its isolation is stark, like an island,
And its surrounding grassland extends
As far as the eye can see.

At the center of the grove,
Resting safely beneath the trees
Is a lush garden of roses,
And a canopy broad and comforting
Shelters the garden beneath.

The soothing spring sunlight
Shines softly through;
Its light is a nourishing gift from above.
The soft smell of roses,
Sweet and intoxicating, wafts to the heights above.

This garden’s soil is fresh;
Its soft, moist earth is sweet in smell.
Bountiful is this blessed earth,
And all the plants set firm in this soil
Are fruitful and blessed.

At the heart of this garden
Is a rose bush, with its blossoms
A deep alluring red in full bloom
And its delicate leaves verdant,
Full of life and of hope.

But at its base, a weed springs forth.
Its stature is small and its blossom insignificant.
The plant is a mistake, its existence here out of place.
Still, it exists out of love from the Maker.

It is a meager dandelion, with blossom golden bright.
Yet the dandelion is still out of place,
With all the blooming roses
That triumphantly soar in the towering heights.

It clings to the rose bush’s base like a vine
And chokes from it its life and beauty,
So enchanting, mystifying and divine,
For it is blind to the splendor the world sees.

For the roses are love,
And the dandelion is mere attraction.
Its stunted growth is a mere shadow
Compared to the fullness of life that is above.

And so the Gardener enters the sanctified grove,
Treading carefully to its very center.
A mighty breeze blows through the grove,
And the dandelion quivers violently amid the wind.

Humbled, the dandelion releases its fortified grip
From the rose bush’s tortured base,
And the Gardner approaches it
Quietly with loving care and grace.

He knows of the dandelion’s intentions,
Of its loving desire for embrace,
For He remembers all His plants,
Whatever stage in life they may be.

He forgets not His plans for each of them,
Especially the solitary dandelion
Which He takes into His hands
And brings to another fertile land
To let blossom for all the world to see.

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