Take a seat won’t you.
Here I Am, inviting, solid yet cozy,
Ready to comfort those weary bones,
And provide renewal after your journey.
Come, share your day with Me.
Carefully, the farmer plants them in a field,
One with lots of sun,
But protection from the wind,
Without fear of flooding,
Which would damage his crop.
He looks on bewildered,
As the plant grows according to the season,
Ever enlarging, through seemingly miraculous means,
Turning sunlight into food,
And sucking richness from mother earth,
The surrogate who the farmer thinks he owns.
Meanwhile, in the field,
The hungry tomatoes flower and then bear fruit,
Showing the real life source,
Until they are overloaded,
And ripe to become,
Food for others, or seed for the next crop.
Meanwhile the farmer looks on,
Sometimes stopping to consider the miracle which just happened,
Seeing the hunger of the tomatoes,
And taking it for his own.
Who will fill my hunger?
And then turned to continue his day.
Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
Long since busted by those who can see through me,
With the special vision, reserved for God,
And those who glimpse my soul,
On an all too regular basis.
Busted. Now the imperfections are not just a little dot or blemish,
In need of cleaning with some sparkly Windex or similar,
I have become unclear to myself,
Unseeing what others see,
Obfuscating the obvious.
Busted. So what to do, now the real halo is exposed,
Reflect, pray, change.
All is possible, but this seems now a terrible,
Long look in the rear view mirror,
Which shows all which looked nice to me.
For what now is clear.