Poetry…
When I hear the word, It’s quite absurd,
I think of the tree that Poets come from.
The Poet Tree.
But really? Do poets really grow on trees?
Can the words of a poet cure disease?
That seems a very strange thought ?
But words do stir and some may cure,
They mend a broken mind,
open the eyes of the blind,
They set the captives free, those words of
poetry.
Grown on the Poet Tree.
Poets are born and then they grow,
then some their seeds do sow.
Their words are seeds, their words they
shout.
Their seeds they scatter all about.
Do you have doubt?
The scattered seeds one and all, they fall,
without a sound.
Fall silently, so quietly, then finally,
they hit the ground.
Some fall on stone, some land in thorns
and some the birds do eat.
But those that land in fertile soil,
will provide a treat and cause a heart to
beat.
And then another tree does grow,
from which abundant seeds do flow.
Words a flowing, they flow with rhyme.
Write a poem that blows your mind.
And then you find, in amongst the forest,
that special tree,
the Poet Tree. Release the blind,
the poet made a promise, the poet King
Adonis.
Or Adonai, He is Lord, He first spoke the
Word.
But the king of the poets, wasn’t grown on
a tree, didn’t come from the Poet Tree.
He was given to us as a gift from God,
sent down from Heaven high above.
He was given to us like seeds in a pod,
with grace, mercy and lashings of love.
Those lashings stripped the flesh from his
back, that greatest poet ever.
The lashings of love,
nails hammered with a thwack,
for you and the meekest beggar.
Didn’t grow on a tree, but on a tree He died,
wept and cried, crucified.
The poet King did set me free, as He hung
upon that Poet Tree.
