Poetry

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I am as fragile as a flower
when certain winds blow
bringing hard-hitting dirt.

The hand of God
is my greenhouse shelter
letting in the son,
watering me with His love.
Looking diligently lest any man fail of the grace of God; lest any root of bitterness springing up trouble [you], and thereby many be defiled; (Hebrews 12:15 KJV)

And some fell on stony ground, where it had not much earth; and immediately it sprang up, because it had no depth of earth: But when the sun was up, it was scorched; and because it had no root, it withered away.
(Mark 4:5-6 KJV)

Oh, I hear the howling wind
of obligation,
it's fearful sound.
I wonder how it has
learned to taunt me.

This curdling in my roots,
have I grasped onto rocky ground?
I ask why relationships
affect me so?

Any stray root of unfaithfulness
please pluck off,
though I act like I'm not.
Leave only the ones
that depend on God.

Oh Lord, you understand
my humaness.
Nourish my roots
with Your strength.

Emie Slate
© 2005

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